Give Or Take
by Zeragii
Summary: Sometimes a blessing can seem like a curse. Obelix had always seen his strength as a gift, something he had accepted and used, to the best of his ability, for good. But it doesn't take much to change one's image of one's self, especially when there are those who make it a point to convince you otherwise. SEQUEL TO "AN INNER LIGHT"
1. Winter

**Hi everyone! I'm back! Camp went really well, and now I'm back home and ready to write another Asterix! As usual, I do not own Asterix, nor any of the characters, names, or places associated with the Asterix universe. I do not write for profit; only for my own enjoyment and (hopefully) the enjoyment of others. ;)**

* * *

Winter.

The most unpredictable of all the seasons. It can be as light and quiet as silence, snowflakes falling in gentle patterns; or it can contain a fierce hostility, with ice, and cold, and wind. It blankets the land, freezing the trails of raging rivers to a sluggish trickle. It casts the lush forests into a gray and brittle slumber. It sends many beasts out of sight, leaving only those most adapted to the harsh weathers of crisp winter. The dead season. The season both of beauty, and danger. And yet, for one small, Gaulish village, perched just out of the reach of the sea's frigid waves, life was just as it always was, no matter the season.

A pink and golden sun rose slowly from the East, casting long, blue shadows over the banks of fresh fallen snow. Birds began to chirp, though not as many as usual, for many of the winged creatures had long since flown for warmer climates. All that remained was a few snowbirds, whose songs rang out in the early morning dawn with quick, melodic twitters that heralded yet another day. There was no breeze; not a single twig shifted in all the woodlands, promising that the sun's light, at least, might have a chance of warming the world it looked down upon. Like a veil being slowly pulled away, the darkness began to recede, making way for bright, golden beams. They started on the tip of the bard's chimney, slowly spreading, as the sun rose higher, to cover his whole tree. Then it danced across the rooftops of the other cottages, trickling light down to fill the doorways and windows. Morning had come. Villagers slowly began to shift awake; blinking away their slumber and preparing themselves for yet another day as the only remaining Gauls that stood against Caesar's reign.

Within one of these huts, on the far Northern side of the village, one Gaul simply refused to wake. Obelix always enjoyed the comfort of his bed. His slumber was deep, and peaceful; undisturbed. His cot bowed under his considerable weight, as he lay sprawled on his stomach with an arm hanging limp on either side of the mattress. His blanket barely covered him, protecting his back and shoulders, but neglecting his limbs and head. But Obelix didn't mind. Cold did not bother him like it did the others, for you see, when he was just a little boy, Obelix had fallen into a cauldron of Magic Potion. The potion was brewed by their druid, Getafix, and granted one superhuman strength, temporarily. But when Obelix had fallen in, drinking every last drop of an entire cauldron, the effects of the potion had become permanent. His strength was legendary; fueling his body in every way possible. Including, apparently, his incredible tolerance for the frigid air of the winter morning outside.

All at once, from the ground floor of Obelix's hut, the sound of small, pattering feet scratched and scuttled their way up the wooden ladder that led to the Gaul's bedroom. A moment later, the small, furry head of a tiny pup peeked over the edge of the loft, blinking and tilting his head to the side before letting out one, sharp yip. Obelix shifted slightly, letting out a moan of annoyance. The tiny dog frowned, fumbling up the rest of the way. His little feet going what seemed like a mile a minute, the pup ran the distance between them, leaping up into his master's bed. Wiggling beneath the blanket, he enjoyed the warmth, but knew that they couldn't stay there all day. Working his way up to Obelix head, which was buried face first in a large, puffy pillow, the dog began licking his master's ears with a passion.

From within the down and feathers of the pillow, a deep chuckle sounded. Then another, as the pup continued his work. Obelix tried to turn his ear away from the wet tongue of his pet, but it only exposed more of his face; and the tiny creature took full advantage of it. Sliding his tongue against Obelix's cheek did the trick. With another, far more conscious laugh, Obelix lifted his head, fixing a humorously stern gaze on the pup.

"Dogmatix," he scolded, though his voice held nothing but joy and mirth. The pup's response was to crouch, tail wagging in glee that his master was now fully awake. Swinging his short, stubby legs over the side of the bed, Obelix held out a hand for Dogmatix to climb into. The dog obliged, jumping up and giving one final lick to Obelix's nose.

"Now, Dogmatix; what have I told you about waking me up at the crack of dawn?" He waved a thick finger in front of the pup's nose, only for the creature to lick that as well. Obelix's facade melted at once, breaking his face into a wide, beaming grin. "Aw, well, that's alright. We can get an early start on our work, then go hunting with Asterix for breakfast."

Dogmatix yapped in agreement, leaping down to the floor as Obelix slowly slid to his feet. He had to hold his sleeping shorts up with one hand, seeing as they had no belt to do so. He favored a pair of blue and white stripes, though of a thinner pattern than his usual garb. He made his way to a polished pot, picking up a small knife. After giving himself a shave, Obelix got himself dressed.*

Sliding his way down the ladder, Dogmatix held gently within his palm, Obelix arrived on the ground floor of his cottage. He took a glance out of the window, taking in the white snow that covered every inch of the village. It didn't look as cold as it could have been, what with the sun shining and all. Obelix wouldn't have even considered lighting a fire in his hearth, if it wasn't for his awareness that, though _he_ may not need the warmth all that much, Dogmatix would. Starting a fire, he gave the pup a pat on the head. "There. That's when we come back from walkies. Don't want you getting ill, like some of the others."

It was true. Colds were very common in winter, especially among certain villagers. Cacofonix had a very weak constitution, and often caught one sickness after the other. Nothing serious, but enough to keep him from singing, to everyone else's relief. Vitalstitistix had also caught a cold this time around; having no choice but to submit himself to the non-too-gentle remedies of his wife, Impedimenta. A few others had fallen to the bitter winter, remaining in bed with stuffy noses, and in the worst case, a mild fever. Obelix didn't get colds very often. Only on very rare occasions, along with a few cases of hay fever. But other than that, his health was abnormal to say the least. For a man of his size and girth, he had the energy of a child, which might have had something to do with the potion as well.

"Come on, then, Dogmatix!" Obelix called, opening the door of his home and stepping out into the chilly morning air. All he required for warmth was a small scarf, knitted and sent by carrier by his mother, Vanilla, who lived a good distance away in Condate.

Dogmatix followed his master, whimpering slightly as his paws sank into the icy snow. It was numbing, but he soon got used to it. He leaped from one of Obelix's footprints to the next, finding the snowdrifts too deep otherwise. They walked behind the large Gaul's hut, down to the quarry where Obelix made his living. Making menhirs was diligent work; requiring skills of strength and precision. Though, under normal, everyday tasks Obelix lacked that first trait, when it came to a hammer and chisel, there was no one more skilled. Taking up his tools of the trade, Obelix went to work, chipping away at a stone he had started the previous day. This menhir would be for Tenansix, who lived near the center of town. Obelix had noticed the stone he had made several months back was beginning to look rather weathered. A new menhir might be on Tenansix's list of current needs, and Obelix wanted to be able to fill that need as soon as it was expressed.

By the time the sun had reached the tips of the countless menhirs in the quarry, Obelix had finished yet another masterpiece. He was really quite proud of it. It was a little longer and thinner than some, but, then again, Obelix liked variety. This one would do quite nicely for his friend.

"Obelix!"

And speaking of friends, that cheerful call could only belong to one person.

"Over here, Asterix! In the back!" Obelix set down his chisel and hammer, beaming down at Dogmatix with a knowing smile. "And now for breakfast," he commented to his pet.

A moment later, the crunching of fresh-fallen snow beneath the feet of a very light person could be heard; just before Asterix came into view. He was a short fellow, barely even half of Obelix's height, and nowhere near his girth. Asterix was the village warrior, a duty that he took very seriously; with more loyalty and devotion then any outsider could ever understand fully. The smaller Gaul was dressed more snugly than Obelix, sporting a scarf, as well as a pair of warm, woolen mittens; knitted and sent by _his_ own mother. Obelix smiled when he saw him; his best friend in all the world, but found it hard to suppress the small amount of worry that managed to sound in his voice.

"Did you sleep well?"

Asterix chuckled as he reached him, leaning down to pick Dogmatix up in his arms. "Of course I did," he laughed, "I haven't been better."

"Your...nightmares...Are they gone yet?"

Asterix's smile faltered slightly. It was a question he really should have expected by now. Obelix asked it every morning, with that same nervous look in his eyes. Asterix averted his gaze, trying his best to gain back his joyful demeanor. "Not completely." Then he added quickly, "But almost. I'm far better than before. It's been almost five months, Obelix; I'll be fine. I promise."

Obelix wasn't so sure. Indeed, it really had been five months since...since Mastix had come. Mastix had been a terrible, evil druid. He had come to steal the Magic Potion, but had then set his sights on Asterix, due to the short Gaul's unusual and rare gift; the Soul Light*. It had been a most horrible experience, for all the Gauls. Mastix had used his power to attack them; torture them, until Asterix had given himself up. It was only by a miracle that Asterix had survived, but he had not done so without a few long-lasting consequences. He had been suffering from terrible nightmares. Obelix had stayed with him in Asterix's hut for the better part of a month, until Asterix's mind began to heal. But his dreams, less horrific though they may be, were still rather unpleasant, from time to time. Far more often than Obelix liked. But there was never any use in arguing with Asterix.

"Well," Obelix closed with reluctance, "If you're sure."

Asterix nodded. "I'm sure." He stared into his friend's slightly frowning face, before adding in an almost needling voice. "I don't suppose you're hungry...or that you would be interested in a _boar hunt_?"

Obelix's eyes lit up at once with indignation. "Now hold on just a minute, _Mr. Asterix_ , but I don't recall saying anything of the sort!" He sounded mad, but the twinkle in his eye showed that he knew what Asterix was up to, and had no problem with taking the bait. Neither did his stomach, which gave a loud, insistent gurgle. Obelix patted it soothingly, causing Asterix to laugh.

"Well, then, _Mr. Obelix_ , will you join me?"

Throwing his tools back to their small alcove by the face of rock, Obelix rubbed his hands together and started ambling toward the village center. "Well, come on then," he called back. "Wild boar can only wait so long, Asterix!"

Asterix smirked. "And that goes for him, as well," he stage whispered to Dogmatix. The pup replied with a yip, before both of them took off to catch up with their bigger friend.

The village, early though it may be, was a hustle and a bustle with life. Children ran back and forth, school having been declared canceled for the day. They raced about, building Roman soldiers out of snow. Capped with bent and dented helmets and armor, it gave the appearance of a mass invasion, to anyone who might not know any better. Little girls occupied themselves indoors, helping their mothers bake fresh bread and biscuits. The warm aroma of toasting dough filled every corner of the village, making everybody's mouths water. Even near Unhygienix's hut. The fishmonger's stock actually resembled the word 'fresh' this time of year, as they were frozen solid. One had to thaw one's meal before eating, what actually tasted, for once, mildly tolerable. Though, Unhygienix would have told you that they were just as fresh as always.

Laughter filled the streets, as did idle chatter. The sharp clanging of hammer against iron, sounding out from Fulliautomatix's blacksmith shop, added an overall, almost musical aspect to the atmosphere. Icicles hung from every roof, long and slender; dripping as the sun did its best to warm the world below it. And, far above all the other huts, Cacofonix sat on the edge of the platform of his tree, softly tuning his lyre.

It was really a wonder that the bard had no trouble doing so. Only five months before, he had fallen from the considerable height of that same tree, resulting in some pretty horrific injuries. But he had healed quickly, thanks to their druid, Getafix, whose Magic Potion also sped up healing, to a degree. After recovering, Cacofonix had insisted on moving back into his tree hut. It was an idea that he seemed more willing to try than his fellow Gauls. His fall had frightened them horribly. But they say that the best way to recover from such a thing, is to jump right back in, before the fear grows too big to conquer. The bard didn't seem to have gained any phobia of falling from his experience, though he was still very cautious.

Obelix waddled through town, Asterix walking swiftly to keep up, and Dogmatix even more so. The gate was now in sight, where they would be able to cross the way and field to the forest beyond. They passed by various persons, all going about their day. As they passed Fulliautomatix's shop, the blacksmith paused in his work and called out to them.

"Where are you two off to?"

"Boar hunt," Asterix replied, stopping to address his friend directly. "Need any meat?"

"No, no; we're still fine. Thank you, though." He gave a toothy grin, glad to see the smile on Asterix's face. It showed that, as each day passed, Asterix was healing more and more.

Asterix nodded. He and Obelix were usually the ones that supplied the village with boar during the winter, seeing as, ever since they were little, the two friends had seemed to have a knack for it. Oh, the others could hunt just fine, but no one could match the team of Asterix and Obelix. Winter, especially, was often too scarce a harvest for the other Gauls when it came to locating boar in the woods. The beasts were around, but far harder to find. But Asterix, and Obelix, never came back empty handed.

"Alright. See you later, Fulliautomatix!" With that, Obelix and Asterix made their way out of the village, and into the frozen forest beyond, ready to proceed with, perhaps, one of Obelix's favorite pastimes.

Boar hunting wasn't just a necessity to Obelix; it was a game. A hobby. An _art_. He loved everything about it. The challenge of locating where the creatures might be within the vast forest, the heart pumping chase, and then, finally, the well-deserved meal. But, perhaps, the part Obelix had always loved best, was that Asterix always did it with him. Games were no fun alone, and Obelix believed that Asterix understood that. The two friends had made a tradition out of it, ever since they had been old enough to hunt; and it was one that they knew they would carry on far into the future.

Asterix chuckled quietly as they walked through the crisp snow. The air was warming nicely, and he knew that, just as it had with them, the beautiful weather would call out any life that existed in the forest. They wouldn't have to find the boars, they just had to wait for the boars to find them.

Slush puddles impeded their progress a little; well, rather, it slowed Asterix down. He couldn't afford to get wet and chilled, as warm as the air might feel. Obelix, on the other hand, traipsed right through them, water splashing up onto his trousers, soaking them. And he did so without a worry. Asterix shook his head with a smile. Of all the people in the known world, Obelix had to be the most unique. Well, everyone was unique and special in their own way. He himself had discovered that that past summer. But Obelix was different. He hadn't been born with his strength. Nor had he trained or worked hard to earn his title as, perhaps, the strongest man alive. He was a man...chosen...Yes, Asterix supposed that was the right word. Obelix had been chosen by circumstances to be who he was now.

At least, that was what Asterix always tried to tell himself. For a moment, the smaller Gaul's smile vanished in a swirl of guilt. A gnawing blame that Asterix still felt from time to time. After all, it had been his fault that Obelix had ever even fallen into the cauldron of Magic Potion. Though, in all honesty, the big lug should have known better than to lean too far forward. But that was beside the point. The real point was that Asterix had gotten his best friend in all the world into a situation that had left permanent effects on both of them. More for Obelix than him. But...Obelix's strength had turned out for the better. It had saved them in a number of cases. And Obelix had never held Asterix's mistake against him. As far as the other villages, no one knew how it had all happened. Neither Asterix nor Obelix had ever told them. They hadn't even ever told Getafix. Asterix, out of shame, and Obelix out of understanding.

"Asterix? You alright?"

The blonde Gaul startled slightly, bumping into his friend's large hand, which Obelix had held out to stop him. He hadn't meant to get thinking like that. Replacing the frown, which he hadn't even realized he'd been sporting, with a smile, Asterix gave his friend's hand a comforting pat. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." He gave a soft chuckle. "You really don't have to worry about me so much. I can take care of myself." He hadn't meant to, but a hint of annoyance managed to slip through on that last sentence. He was just so tired of being babied. Ever since the whole incident with Mastix, the villagers had been clinging to him like one of Getafix's odd, sticky concoctions. They hardly ever let him out of their sight. And when they did, he returned to a sea of worried faces. And it was starting to really get him down.

The only other person who could relate to his plight was Cacofonix. The bard was the village's next most watched individual. Again, since Mastix had used his power to throw him from his tree, Cacofonix had been the source of much worry, especially by the women. His thin frame and naturally timid nature prompted motherly behavior from all the womenfolk and, though he enjoyed a little attention, like anyone would, like Asterix, he had had enough. The bard, for the past few days, had been going off alone into the forest. It was his only chance for a moment's peace and quiet.

A chance that Asterix could never seem to get.

The shorter Gaul sighed, glancing about him in an effort to calm his heated thoughts. "I'm sorry, Obelix," he huffed, looking anywhere but his friend. "I'm just so done with being the center of everyone else's attention."

Obelix blinked, following Asterix as the blonde Gaul started forward again. He watched Asterix's face, averted as it was, in an attempt to read what he might be thinking. "They're still worried, you know," he prompted softly.

"I know."

Obelix paused to permit Dogmatix to catch up. It was hard for the pup, seeing as most of the snowdrifts were twice as tall as he was.

"But they don't have to be," Asterix insisted, almost earnestly.

Obelix nodded, slowly. After a moment, he asked, "Do you worry about them?"

A rueful smile lit up Asterix's face, and he sent his friend a smirk. "All the time."

"Then I guess it's alright if they return the favor." Obelix returned the grin. "Just this once."

Asterix outright laughed at that. Sometimes he didn't know just where Obelix got this stuff. Whether it was his friend's simple, child-like logic, or just an accidental slip up that sounded wise and understanding on the way out. Either way, Obelix always seemed to know just what to say to bring Asterix back to normal. And right now, Asterix realized, he was out in the safety of their forest, with his best friend by his side, and a home of loving, caring friend's behind him. If that wasn't cause for happiness, he didn't know what was. And with that, he banished all negativity from his thoughts. "Come on, Obelix; let's go get our breakfast."

And they did. As well as lunch later that day, and supper too. The crisp, winter morning turned into a warmer winter day, which in turn became a extra crisp winter night. But the cold didn't bother the Gauls. Inside their toasty huts, fires crackled. Warm, woolen blankets, made by the womenfolk during the summer, came in handy, as well as cauldrons full of steaming, boar stew. All was quiet and tranquil. The Romans, who sat in their respective camps without the comforts the Gauls enjoyed, were more interested in keeping themselves warm than expending energy to fight against an 'indomitable' enemy.

Stars, amazingly bright, twinkled far above in the dark, velvet sky. The moonlight glinted of the crystals in the snow. It was a beautiful night. A normal night...

But things don't always stay normal.

* * *

 **Hello! I'm so glad to be back to writing Asterix! I never realize how much I miss it until I leave it and then come back to it. :) Well, here's the first chapter. Not much happens, as you can see, but I think it's important to show how normal everything in the village is, before I go and stir things up for them. Interestingly, unlike "Safe and Sound", this story is actually a continuation of another of my stories. It's in the same timeline as "An Inner Light". Though, if you really wanted to, you could slip "Safe and Sound" into the timeline somewhere, since I think I do make a few references to it in "An Inner Light". :) Alrighty!**

 **Oh! Almost forgot! I am such a dipstick. I've gone and done something silly. I'm writing five different stories at the same time...So, the chapters might not be as speedy in coming as other times. :)**

 ***In the comic "Asterix and Son", we see that Obelix does indeed shave, as a part of his morning routine. It only made sense that it would be something he would do on a day to day basis.**

 ***The Soul Light, of course, is from my other Asterix story "An Inner Light". If you haven't read that story yet, this story should still make sense, but I do recommend reading "An Inner Light" first. ;)**


	2. Travelers All

A dark figure stood out among the cold, white backdrop of the snow-covered wood. He was strongly build, with square shoulders and hair cut short. An impressive stature, by any means. A cloak whipped in the wind around him, increasing his mysterious pose and presence. He was the very image of healthy strength, and intimidating defiance, even against the frigid forces of nature itself. Behind him, wrapped in blankets and cloaks such as his, trailed an assembly of men, women, and a number of children. They sheltered one another from the rising cold, blocking out what they could of the waves of chilling ice crystals, that fluttered and launched themselves into the strong breeze.

The wind had been picking up as the night went on, and the swirling clouds of gray above, blotting out the moon, told of an oncoming storm. Pausing to take in the changing weather, the man raised a hand to his forehead, shielding his eyes. A woman, shivering from cold, approached him from behind.

"Lycurgus, we need shelter," she stated, looking back over her shoulder at the huddled mass of humanity behind her. She tried to wrap her shawl closer to her body, frowning in concern when she found that her fingers, numb with cold, would not obey her.

Lycurgus gave her a stern look over his shoulder. Though he wore a cloak, fastened with a golden clasp about his neck, his chest was bare. But, even so, he did not shiver from the frigid air. In fact, he ignored it. "Are you so weak as that you cannot stand what winter throws at us?" he spoke lowly. His eyes showed immense disapproval. When the woman lowered her eyes and did not answer, his tone became more forceful. "Speak and answer me!"

The woman flinched, trying again to shield herself against the cold. "I am sorry, my lord...I am weak...I cannot meet the requirements you wish of me..." Her voice trailed off in misery, her head lowered so that a single tear could fall to the fresh-fallen snow at her feet.

Lycurgus watched her a moment, before turning to her fully. Stretching out a hand, he lifted her face gently until her eyes met his own. "Do not be troubled by the frailties that plague you. Strength will come." Giving her a winning smile, he added, "I will find shelter, Agafya." Releasing her face to gaze at his followers, he began to turn. "Build a fire in the safety of these trees. I will return." And with that, he was gone; disappearing into the whirling wisps of powdered snow.

Agafya watched until she could no longer see him, before she turned to carry out his orders.

* * *

Soporifix stood, shivering, with a mug of steaming broth in hand. He really didn't see the point in standing guard, especially in the middle of winter. In fact, he was pretty sure it was just a measure of unexhausted caution on the village's part. Ever since Mastix, the Gauls sense of security had fallen somewhat. Not ridiculously so, but enough. There was a sentry posted at all times, as a lookout if nothing else. Too many times had they been caught unaware. Too many times had an enemy found their doors open before them.

The aging Gaul took an idle sip of his broth, licking his lips as the steam curled around his mustache and nose. It was quite good, though certainly not as good as his daughter's recipe. Panacea made a broth like no other, tasteful and brimming with herbs and various spices. But her cooking was no longer so easily obtained for the kindly father. Panacea was now two years married, and lived far from him in Condatum. Soporifix sighed. Sometimes, on lonely nights such as this, he missed her terribly. But she had promised to visit come spring, and that brought him a degree of comfort.

Wrapping his blanket around him more snugly, he let his eyes rove the bare treeline of the forest from the top of his perch on the ramparts of the village wall. All was still, other than the wind, which had started to kick up a lot of snow powder, carrying it in drifts, like clouds, across the grassland and out toward the sea. Luckily, for him, the wooden barrier of the wall protected him from most of it. Still, he was very grateful that he would be relieved within the next hour. It was Fulliautomatix's shift after him, wasn't it? He shrugged, uncertain. Not that it mattered. The weather wasn't all that uncomfortable, and the broth helped make it fairly tolerable.

All at once, his eyes caught a movement within the gray haze on the borderline of the forest's edge. He stood to his feet hastily, the blanket dropping from his shoulders to the parapet at his feet. Squinting against the sudden gust of wind, he tried to tell whether it was just a trick of the peeking moon's semi-light, or something else. "Who's there?!" he called, only half expecting someone to answer. The figure froze, seeming to gaze in his direction, before stepping out into the open, toward the village wall.

It was a man, middle-aged, but very strongly built. He was bare-chested, all but a dark cape that fluttered out behind him. The rest of his clothing resembled something not all that different than a roman soldier, minus much of the armor, which he lacked. And the colors were all wrong. The fabric of his garments where far less robe-like, and more geared toward easy movement. It made Soporifix shiver just to see him, so unproperly dressed for the season. But, oddly enough, the fellow did not seem bothered in the least by the elements. He stood tall, almost defiant against the cold. The wind rustled his short, curled hair.

Coming up to the gates of the village, the man lifted his eyes to meet those of the older man. "Is this a place of which people may take sanctuary?" His voice was low and deep, and yet it carried perfectly clear, even through the wind.

Soporifix blinked, his mind taking a moment to fully comprehend the formal addressment. "Uh...Uh, yes; I suppose." But then he thought better of it, his eyes falling to the sheathed sword at the man's side. "To friends and those granted entry by our Chief."

The man's dark eyes took in Soporifix in an almost calculating manner. "Summon your chief, and I shall soon return." With that he turned and headed back the way he had come.

Soporifix cocked his head, trying to figure out what he should do. With only the wind as his companion, he was uncertain that the meeting had even taken place. Had he fallen asleep? No, for there were the footsteps in the snow. With a slow shake of his head, he muttered to himself. Taking to the parapet letter, he made a sprint across the quiet village to awaken his chieftain.

* * *

Vitalstitistix had not appreciated being awoken in the middle of the night. He wasn't as young as he had once been, though he was still relatively youthful, and he often found a good night's sleep to be important to his health. His cold, which, thankfully, was getting better, more out of willpower to escape his wife's care than the actual effect of her remedies. Impedimenta had a self-proclaimed knowledge of cures and tricks that she used her husband as a constant experiment to explore. Nothing harmful, but certainly unpleasant. The most innocent being a remedy that Impedimenta had learned from Vitalstitistix's mother, where he was made to sit with his feet in a basin of warm water. His father, Toutatis bless his soul, had had to endure the same fate many a time.

And so his day had been. One remedy after another, and all applied in a less than gentle manner. It had left him thoroughly exhausted, and he had been very glad to slide into bed with the approaching night. The hearth had been lit, a gentle fire warming the Chieftain's hut to a cozy degree, and slumber had not been long in coming.

Until, five hours into the night, someone knocked loudly, and rather hurriedly, against the wooden frame of their door.

With a grumble, Vitalstitistix yanked the warm sheets off of his body, shivering when his bare feet landed on the cold, dirt floor of his hut. Beside him, Impedimenta only stirred enough to roll over, away from his ramblings. "For Toutatis' sake, what could be so important as to wake a chief in the middle of the night?!" He waddled on sleep-laden legs to the door in nothing but his cream colored night-tunic and colorful shorts, letting out a warning growl. "For your sake and health, the sky had better be falling on our heads!" He swung the door open, cringing as the frigid air caught him. "What is it?!"

"I'm sorry, Chief, but this couldn't wait."

Vitalstitistix relaxed immediately at the sight of Soporifix. The aging Gaul was one of the few elders in their village, having been a young man in Vitalstitistix's childhood. He was greatly cared for and respected among them all. "I-I'm sorry, friend," the chieftain muttered apologetically. Seeing that the older man was wheezing from his run from the parapets, Vitalstitistix opened the door a little wider, motioning toward its warm interior. "Would you like to come in for a moment?"

Soporifix wished very deeply that he could have, but there were matters that needed attention. "Chief, there is a man outside our gates who wishes to meet with you."

Vitalstitistix stiffened. The same hesitation that had been so clear in Soporifix's eyes was now clearly reflected in his own. The last time he had allowed a stranger into the village, they had all suffered terribly. His mind wandered back to the sleepless nights, the storms, the fear, and the near deaths that had resulted in his foolish decision. He never should have been so trusting. He should have listened to that little nagging voice in the back of his mind from the very start. He should have turned the old woman away. Then the pain and trials they had endured never would have happened. But how could he have known? How could he have guessed that the 'old woman' would turn out to be an evil druid, bent on causing them anguish and misery? That he would hurt so many of his people? Hurt Asterix, and Cacofonix?

And Impedimenta.

The chieftain's eyes strayed to his wife's still form, warm and safe in their bed. He let his gaze linger there, trying to sort out the thoughts banging around in his mind. He never wanted to bring terror like that to their village ever again. But he couldn't condemn the good with the bad. He couldn't turn away a helpless stranger, just because there could be a chance of it playing out in an unfavorable way. What kind of Gaul- what kind of man-would he be?

Slowly, as if each word weighed heavily on his heart, he made his decision. "Wake the others. I'll meet them at the wall in a few minutes."

Nodding, Soporifix gathered his cloak around himself and took off again into the dark, snow swirling night. Behind him he heard the creak of wood as Vitalstitistix closed the door to his hut, and with it, shut the older Gaul out from the safety and warmth he really wished he could have enjoyed. But not tonight. Running first to the blacksmith's shop, Soporifix shouted up to the window of the room above, where the smith and his family lived. There was a long wait, in which he had to call several more times, before a lamp was lit and a shaggy-haired Fulliautomatix poked his head out to shout a less than appreciative phrase. But when he saw who it was, and had heard the reason for the sudden call, he rushed back inside to get properly dressed.

Soporix's next stop was Unhygienix, who responded in much the same way, angry at first but then full of concern. After that was Cacofonix, who was surprisingly easy to rouse. As was Asterix, who ran to fetch the remaining two; Getafix and Obelix. These six men, along with their Chief, formed what some might call the Council of the Village. Vitalstitistix valued their opinions, and regarded them as those he could always turn to. Soporifix, though also considered one of these men, had long ago declined the honor, saying that his days of doling out advice were done. He was much happier standing guard, in the warmer months more so than now. But since it was his shift anyway, he decided he would join them for this particular night.

And so it was, that a short time later, the seven Gauls were standing atop the snow-covered parapets that looked out over the wall to the frozen forest beyond.

Cacofonix rubbed his hands together, blowing into them in an effort to warm his fingers. His gloves, old and worn, had long since rubbed away at the tips, exposing bare appendage underneath. Finding that his breath did little to heat them up, he ended up folding a hand under each of his arms, stomping his feet in the snow to try and warm them as well. He peered out into the white, wind-whipped field and forest, squinting against the ice crystals that hit him in the face and pricked him in the eyes. "I-I don't see anyone," he commented, trying to keep his teeth from chattering. Beside him, Unhygienix looked equally disgruntled.

"Soporifix, I thought you said there was a man here." The fishmonger motioned to the empty field. "There's no one here at all!"

The elder Gaul gave him a stern look. "Unhygienix, when I say something, I mean it. There _was_ a man here. He told me that he wanted to meet with you, Vitalstitistix. He wanted shelter from the weather. When I told him it was your decision, he told me to get you and then turned back to the forest. He said he would return." He shrugged. "When, he never said."

Fulliautomatix gave a huff, wrapping his arms around himself. "Heh, think he'd be a little more punctual, seeing as he got us all out of bed at this hour of the-"

"Look!"

Asterix's call brought all their eyes forward. From within the shrouded confines of the forest, a procession of shadowy figures marched slowly into sight. In the front, tall and unyielding the winter itself, a man strode, proud and graceful. Behind him, the shadows began to take the shape of other men, women, and a number of children. All looking terribly cold.

Vitalstitistix's eyes widened as he sucked in a breath of frigid air. "By Toutatis..." He hadn't expected this. Beside him, Getafix also seemed surprised,raising a questioning eyebrow at the approaching assembly.

The leader of the travelers strode up to the gate, his cape fluttering out and across his bare chest. He came to a halt, raising a hand to signal his followers to do the same. Gazing up at the Gauls on the wall above him, he seemed to radiate a confidence that was either very rare, or unique in and of itself. "Greetings, men of Gaul. I am Lycurgus, a visionary, and these are my followers. We have traveled far, and our women and children need rest. Is your village a refuge we might make use of, or should we continue on to the next?"

Asterix exchanged a glance with his druid, before taking it upon himself to speak first. As village Warrior, he had that right. "The only other shelter around here are camps belonging to the Romans." He paused, taking in the shivering persons below. "And I don't believe they would take kindly to you lot." Send them into slavery was more likely a fate. Asterix looked to Vitalstitistix, adding quietly. "We can't just leave them out there."

Vitalstitistix agreed wholeheartedly. Of course they couldn't! Those were human beings out there, not animals. Flesh and blood. Poor villagers, by the looks of them. Simple farmers, and traders, and craftsmen. Raising his voice over a sudden gust of wind, the Chieftain spoke his command. "Let them in! We'll take them to my hut!"

"But first!" Asterix spoke up, his sudden intrusion catching everyone's attention and freezing them in place. "First, remove any weaponry you may have on you and leave them outside the gate!"

The looks of discomfort that passed over the travelers faces made it more than obvious that they were reluctant to do so. But who could blame them? They were strangers in a strange land; lost, cold, and certainly hungry. They didn't know the Gauls. Didn't know how safe they were within their walls. The only one who didn't seem concerned was Lycurgus. He let his eyes settle on Asterix, taking him in with a sort of curious study. Then, coming to a decision, he answered for them all.

"We shall do as he says." Unstrapping his belt from his side, he removed both it and the impressive sword attached to it. His followers took his example and did the same. Only then were the gates of the village open to them.

* * *

It was a tight squeeze, but not uncomfortably so. The travelers, a total of twelve men, including Lycurgus, seven woman, and five children, seemed very grateful for the warmth of the hearth within Vitalstitistix's hut. Impedimenta, who had awoken to a household of hungry strangers, had enlisted the help of some of the women and begun to boil water for a soup. She helped supply blankets for the youngsters, and passed out some loaves of bread, in the hopes of holding off starvation until the soup was ready.

The hut was now a hive of activity. People bustled about, helping the children settle, or the women assist Impedimenta. Those who remained were talking, and it gave the whole place a very get-together kind of look. But it was also stifling. The heat was, by now, more than sufficient, due to the number of bodies pressed indoors. And the chatter was loud, but cheerful. But, despite the friendly atmosphere, it was all a bit overwhelming for some.

That was why Obelix stood to the side, out of the way, with Asterix. Both felt their senses heightened by the late hour and the excitement that surrounded them. Both were curious, but just as equally cautious. The larger Gaul held Dogmatix in his hand, stroking the pup as he surveyed the crowded room.

"There sure are a lot of them," he observed.

Asterix didn't look up at him, instead letting his eyes rove dutifully over the assembly. "Yes. Practically a village all by themselves."

Obelix gave a chuckle, finally gaining the full attention of his friend. "Imagine that! A village that moves about!" But then he frowned. "Kind of a silly time of year to be doing that, don't you think?" He looked out over the gathering. "I mean, in summer I could see...but winter?"

Asterix rubbed his chin reflectively. "Hmm. It does seem a little out of place."

"Is that caution or paranoia talking?"

Both jumped slightly as the third voice broke into their conversation. Turning, they were relieved to see the smiling face of their druid, Getafix. He was standing beside them, hands folded neatly behind his back, surveying the room as they had been. His eyes moved to meet theirs individually, before settling back on Asterix.

The blond Gaul blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Are you being cautious, as is your duty as village Warrior, and keeping the possibility of danger as an option; or, because of certain feelings, have you already condemned them as an enemy?" He shifted his gaze to Obelix, as though the question applied to him as well.

Asterix winced. He knew Getafix was just trying to be helpful, and he _did_ have a point, but it still stung a little. Ever since Mastix, Asterix had been struggling with a few things, one being the ability to trust people as willingly as he had before. Not when it came to the village, he trusted them with his life, but strangers were under far more scrutiny than they had been before. He couldn't help it. Asterix looked up at Obelix, finding comfort in knowing he wasn't the only one. In fact, the whole village had been having trouble with the exact same thing. That was why the gate to the village no longer stayed open all the time. Some, in their spare time, had even worked to fortify it.

"Asterix?"

Asterix blinked, realizing that Getafix had placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, his face filled with concern. That was the other thing that was causing the blond Gaul problems. He tended to easily get lost in thought. _Real_ lost. Tuning everything else out. Sometimes he couldn't even remember what he had been thinking during his loss of focus. Most times he could. Some mental scars take longer to heal than others.

"I-I'm sorry," he apologized, missing the look of worry that passed between his two friends. "I don't know...They seem alright..."

Getafix nodded slowly in encouragement. "But?"

"But." Asterix sighed, drawing out the word, as though it were a sentence all its own. "But I...I should go introduce myself." Abruptly, he left his companions to enter the teaming crowd, in search of the leader of the travelers. Getafix sighed as the blond Gaul was lost to their sight.

Obelix sent a nervous glance from the druid, to where Asterix had gone, then back to Getafix. "Is he...Is he getting better?" the large Gaul asked, a hint of hopelessness in his tone. He set Dogmatix on the floor so the pup could go play with the children.

Getafix turned to him, changing his expression to one of encouragement. "He is. I know it's hard to see it, but he's improving." He patted Obelix's arm, preparing to join the others. "He'll come through this just fine, you'll see. He's just got a few things to work out first."

Obelix nodded, trying not to let his face show his wavering belief. But it was always nearly impossible to keep things from their druid.

Getafix gave a winning smile. "I believe Asterix has the right idea. We should get to know these people. We are the hosts after all." With that, he led Obelix forward into the hut full of guests.

Asterix was feeling a little uncomfortable. As he struggled through the mass of humanity that was occupying the Chieftain's hut, the strangers kept sending long, calculating stares in his direction. He felt their eyes upon him, watching him, as he pushed through them, with curiosity and what felt like contempt. He didn't like it, and, for a moment, he almost considered leaving for the quiet and safety of his own hut. But then his mind gave itself a mental shake. Maybe Getafix was right. Maybe he was labeling these people as dangerous out of his own, exhausted paranoia. They seemed harmless enough. Still, he wished they would stop staring at him like that.

It seemed like forever until he finally located his Gaulish companions. They were in the far corner, talking with...Lycurgus, was it? The fellow sure was stoic. He stood stiffly, but not in a straining way. And that confidence was nearly blinding. His height was impressive as well, a good several inches taller than Fulliautomatix. All muscle, strength, and an overwhelming sense of presence.

Just as Asterix stepped forward to join them, he caught the tail end of Vitalstitistix's introductions. The blond Gaul caught the Chieftain's eye, prompting Vitalstitistix to extend a hand in Asterix's direction. "...and this is Fulliautomatix, our resident blacksmith...Ah, Lycurgus, this is Asterix, our village Warrior."

For the first time since Lycurgus had appeared, the man actually showed signs of surprise. With an air of bewilderment, he turned, looking down at Asterix, just as he had on the parapets, only this time much more thoroughly. "You... _You_ are the defender of this place?" He seemed to be struggling with waves of disbelief.

Asterix felt slightly insulted. "Yes, I am," he replied bluntly. "...Is that a problem?" He hadn't meant to sound so defensive, but it just seemed to come out that way.

Lycurgus blinked, his mouth forming a thin line as he regained his stiff, emotionless demeanor. "No. I just find it...interesting. Isn't that job _usually_ held by someone of notable stature and strength?"

A shocked silence made the situation even more uncomfortable. It was hard to tell just how those words had meant to be received. They could have been harmless enough...or it could have been a deliberate insult. In either case, Vitalstitistix decided to treat it as the first, with maybe just a hint of reproach. "There are few men who fill that position better than Asterix. He has saved our village more times than we can count. No matter the cost to himself." And the chieftain's expression left no room for mockery. He meant it completely.

Lycurgus gave a slight bow to Asterix. "I apologize. My words were not meant to disgrace you."

Asterix shrugged. "It's my height," he smiled. "It can be a little...misleading."

"Indeed." Again the man gave him a deeply curious stare. "You must be a very special man."

The blond Gaul flinched ever so slightly. He had never liked being referred to as 'special', especially after their struggle five months before. And he wasn't about to bring up the fact that, at least according to everyone else, he _was_ special. The last time that had gotten around, he had nearly met his untimely end. Pasting on a forced smile, Asterix pushed those thoughts away. "Not really. I just do what I think is right."

"Still, it must be a very difficult job to accomplish by yourself."

Asterix chuckled at that. "Oh, I never have to do it all by myself. Obelix is always there to help me."

Lycurgus raised a curious brow. "Obelix?"

"Yes?"

The company turned their eyes upward from Asterix's position, settling on the enormous Gaul who had come to stand behind his small friend. If Lycurgus had been surprised by Asterix's stature, he was nearly blown away with Obelix's mighty girth. His eyes widened and his mouth opened, becoming minutely slack. Asterix guessed that the man had not really gotten a good look at Obelix out on the walltop, seeing as it had been dark and windy. The sight of the large Gaul now must have thrown him for quite a loop. It made Asterix want to laugh out loud.

For his part, Obelix gave Lycurgus a curious blink, before extending a friendly hand. "I'm Obelix," he clarified, giving the man's hand a enthusiastic shake...which lifted Lycurgus right off the ground.

"OBELIX!" several voices cried, and a moment later, the traveler found himself back on solid floor. An older man with a long white beard was inspecting his arm, making sure nothing had been strained. Where he had come from was a mystery, but he certainly had a lot to say.

"Obelix, how many times must we remind you! You have got to be careful, especially with people outside our village! They can't handle handshakes like that as easily as we can!" The elderly fellow turned to Lycurgus. "I'm sorry; Obelix doesn't know his own strength sometimes. I am Getafix, the druid of this village."

Lycurgus tried to regain some of the dignity he had lost, though he seemed far from interested in Getafix's words. Instead, he stared quite openly at Obelix in a way that made the large Gaul very uncomfortable.

Obelix felt slightly chastened. He always forgot how frail outsiders were. It didn't matter so much with the villagers, since the Magic Potion, whether they had had some recently or no, always pumped through their systems, making them more resilient than most. Even then, it was so easy to accidentally be a little too rough. Over the years he had mastered 'being gentle', but, sometimes, in all the excitement, he forgot. And now that fellow was staring at him. He hoped he hadn't hurt him. That wasn't a good way to make friends, he knew. He'd done it before. But the fellow didn't seem angry, just...overly curious.

Obelix's eyes moved to slightly behind the man, spotting someone hiding there, still wrapped tightly within the folds of a cloak and shawl. A woman, dark haired and large eyed, was staring up at him. Raising a hand slowly, Obelix pointed her out to the rest. "Who's that?"

Lycurgus removed his gaze from the large Gaul, shifting them to the woman in question. A cool smile lit his lips, the first they had seen from him. "Ah, this is Agafya, my wife."

Asterix tilted his head to better see the young woman. It was hard to do so, seeing as she was mostly covered by material, but her eyes were quite beautiful, but very shy. He reached out a hand to great her. "Hello, I'm Asterix." But she didn't return the gesture, keeping her hands hidden in her cloak. All she gave was a slight bow of her head. It confused the blond Gaul, but he decided not to be brought down by it. These people weren't Gauls, of that he was sure. Whatever people they were might not be used to being greeted in their manner. Toutatis knew what their customs were.

Vitalstitistix gave Agafya a civil nod in return, taking up his duty as village chief. "I'm sure you and your people are tired." He scratched his head, which was bare of helmet this time of night. "The question is where to put all of you." He gazed about him, knowing that his hut was certainly large enough, but that it was definitely not ideal for guests.

Asterix held up a hand. "Why don't we split them up. Each of us can house some of them comfortably. That way they'll feel more welcome, and it will be easier to-" He had been going to say 'keep an eye on them', but then realized how that might have sounded to their guests. He quickly remedied his words. "...take care of them."

Fulliautomatix agreed wholeheartedly. "I've got at least two extra beds, plus a cot. We can house at least two."

Cacofonix raised a tentative hand. "I've got an extra cot as well."

The others began volunteering their homes, bringing a smile to Vitalstitistix's face. "Very well. If that's alright with you, that's what we will do."

Lycurgus gave a subtle not. "That is acceptable."

* * *

 **Whoohoo! Finally! Sorry guys, I was on a camping trip with my family. :) Had a great time, but missed writing something awful. But it did give me time to work out a few bugs in the plot of this story.**

 **Oh! By the way, I got a message from PutMoneyInThyPurse, and she made a good point. Obelix actually has gotten a cold, as well as hay fever, in the series. So, I went back to chapter one and adjusted it to Obelix doesn't get sick 'very often'. Only on very rare occasions. :) He is very resilient when it comes to the elements of winter, and doesn't feel the cold like the others (I'll keep that in). :) Thanks!**


	3. Night of Unrest

Obelix trudged through the snow, Dogmatix held cupped in his hands, using his fingers to block the frigid wind from the pup fur covered skin. It was well past midnight; probably closer to morning, but still dark enough to make it 'bedtime' in the large Gaul's mind. Obelix had grown very tired. Sleep was something he needed just as badly as food. Without it, he grew drowsy, and his body refused to function as well as it usually did. So, it was, by this time, that he had reached a very one-minded state. Bed. Sleep. Comfort. And he would not be content until he obtained all three.

Even so, he was still perfectly aware of the young man following behind him. Itylus was his name, though how Obelix remembered that was a wonder, even to himself. The fellow was trailing slowly, taking long strides that still had to work hard to keep up with the large Gaul's own. Obelix slowed his steps, giving the stranger a chance to catch up.

Itylus was another man strongly built, much like Lycurgus, though, maybe not as impressively. He had long, dark hair, to his shoulders, in a fashion that greatly reminded Obelix of the Egyptians. But the hair was not corded, it was straight and fine, and, unlike the Egyptians, his face was covered in a short, well-trimmed beard. While he was not bare-chested, his muscles were clearly defined beneath the light fabric he wore. He was healthy, and strong for what looked like years of training or hard labor.

Obelix started walking again as the man made it to his side. Itylus had been chosen to spend the night with Obelix. He had been the only one left, and Obelix, being the kind-hearted soul he was, had been thrilled to have the company. The travelers had been divided up according by family. Of the twelve men, seven were married. Those who had children were not separated. Fulliautomatix was able to house a man, his wife, and their young son. Cacofonix had taken in a young man, just about his age. Hopefully, he was a music lover. Unhygienix crammed a family of four into his home; a man, his wife, and their two sons. Getafix housed a man and wife, a slightly older couple, though not very much older than Soporifix, and still very healthy and well-built. Soporifix himself had offered his home to another family of four, again, with two sons. Asterix housed a middle-aged fellow, while Vitalstitistix, bless his soul, housed three couples, one of them being Lycurgus and Agafya. The remaining two men had been sent to spend the night with a few other villagers.

That left Obelix with Itylus.

Obelix wished he was a more smiley sort. He had always enjoyed a bit of humor, but this man was, by far, the sternest, most boring individual he had ever had the misfortune to meet. Oh well. Could have been worse. At least he wasn't as imposing as Lycurgus. The leader of these strangers unnerved Obelix somehow. He couldn't place the reason, but he didn't fully trust the man. But, again, just as Getafix had said, maybe he, like Asterix, was letting their past experience with Mastix taint his opinion of these visitors. Obelix promptly pushed the feeling aside.

They reached the menhir deliveryman's cottage just as the Eastern sky was beginning to lighten with a pale. bluish glow. Perhaps three hours remained of the night. With a creak, Obelix opened the weathered door and went in. After several moments of feeling about blindly, he located the hearth and blew on it to reignite the embers. The room was illuminated in a warm glow just as Itylus moved in behind him.

Obelix set Dogmatix down, turning to face his guest. Spreading his arms wide, he indicated his humble abode. "Well, this is it. It's not much to look at, I suppose, but I like it. It belonged to my parents, and they passed it on to me when they left the village."

Itylus let his eyes wander over the furnishings, which, in all honesty, wasn't much. Obelix had never been much for the finer things, and had settled for the bare necessities. Over the years, he had found that he needed things of strength and sturdiness. Normal furniture would not hold his weight. Finding only a few who could make things custom to his size, Obelix had worked on many of the items himself. He was by no means a craftsman, being more used to working with stone, but he could do in a pinch. There was a table, and a stool, built large enough to handle his girth and height. There was the fireplace, again, quite large, with a enormous cauldron for stews and soups. There were several stone crafts laying about; odd little things that were still in the midst of creation. But, perhaps, the oddest thing present was the extensive collection of helmets that seemed to pile up in every available corner. Itylus raised an eyebrow in question.

"Oh, that's just a hobby," Obelix explained, catching his meaning by the odd look that had crossed his face. "Just, you know, something to pass the time. My father used to do it. Got me started on it."

"Where do you get them?" Itylus asked, picking one particularly dented helm and examining it.

Obelix blinked. These were the first words his guest had spoken to him yet. The Gaul was slightly thrown off by how deep and strong the young man's voice was. "Oh, ah, here and there. Whenever we run into the Romans. We enjoy a good punch up every now and then, and the Romans are very good at obliging." He yawned, missing the look of confusion that crossed Itylus's face. Waddling over to the corner, Obelix pushed an assortment of helmets aside, revealing a dusty, old cot beneath them. It didn't have any sheets, and the mattress itself had patches of straw sticking out of it at odd angles. But, it wasn't too filthy, just unused. "This is the only bed I've got, but, once I fetch you some blankets, it should do alright."

Itylus nodded, seeming not to care about the dust. "It will serve me well."

"You talk funny."

The traveler actually looked offended. "Excuse me?"

"All of you," Obelix clarified, hoping he wasn't being rude. "You all talk so stern and serious. Like the Druids do...but not quite. Is that how they speak were you come from?"

Itylus blinked again. "I suppose."

"And where are you from?"

Instantly the man's barriers were up. He seemed to stiffen, as though the friendly conversation had all at once become an interrogation. What little emotion that had slipped into his expression was gone in an instant, replaced by a thin mouth and sharp eyes. "Far from here."

"Yes, yes; but where?"

"I am not obliged to say."

"Oh." Obelix looked thoroughly disappointed. More out of something to do than anything, he turned to a large, rock sculpture at his side. "Well, I'll go get your blankets then. You'll be needing a little more leg room, so I'll set this outside." With that, he reached forward and lifted the structure with hardly any effort. He hadn't even considered the surprise that his action might give a stranger. He was just so used to using his strength without hesitation.

Itylus's mouth hung open in shock, his eyes growing large. It wasn't until Obelix had left and returned that he found his voice. "You...You picked that boulder up as if it were nothing but a pebble!" he declared. He looked the Gaul up and down, taking his large stomach and girth. Obelix looked strong, and Itylus had expected him to be so, but this...this was different. This went beyond normal strength.

Obelix paused at his ladder, on his way up to grab some sheets from the loft above. "Yes. I know. I do it all the time."

"But, that takes enormous strength!"

Obelix nodded in agreement, starting up the ladder, which groaned under his weight. His voice came from above, slightly muffled by the rafters. "I'm pretty strong, I guess. I sometimes forget that everyone else can't lift the same stuff I can." He started back down with a bundle of fabric tucked under one arm. He reached the bottom, handing them to the still stunned Itylus. "If it bothers you, I'll try to remember not to do it in front of you."

"No, no," the traveler mumbled, "Not at all. It is just, I have never met a man who could move something so effortlessly. Even Lycurgus cannot do what you have done, and, until now, he was the strongest man I have ever come across."

Obelix chuckled. "Well, he'll meet his match here."

Itylus had seen enough of Obelix's character to know the Gaul was not speaking of himself. Obelix was not the boastful type. "You mean, there are others in this village who equal you in strength?!" he cried. He was a different person from the stern, boring fellow who had followed the red-haired Gaul through the snow. Eyes wide, he seemed intent on this one subject and this one subject only. Answers were what he wanted.

"Sure. All of us are. Though, not quite like me. The others are normal most of the time, but after they take the Ma-" Obelix froze, his face actually turning rather pale. He hadn't realized how much he had been talking. Asterix had warned him, time and again, never to give too much information to strangers, _especially_ when it came to the Magic Potion. Mastix had learned of it, and that had caused them great misfortune. Asterix's gift of the Solas Anam was even more important when it came to keeping secrets. But the problem was, Obelix had never been very good at keeping secrets. He was lucky to have caught himself in time. As it was, he might have said too much. Thankfully, Itylus didn't seem to catch his sudden halt in conversation.

"All of you? But, your warrior?"

Obelix stiffened. "Asterix. Yes?"

"Is he strong as well?"

Well, he had already given that part away. No harm in answering. "Of course," Obelix replied. "And he's very smart. Top of class when we were little." That was true. That information was harmless enough. Asterix had helped Obelix back then, with school. Obelix had struggled through those years, but with the blond Gaul's help, the times had seemed far less painful. Asterix _was_ smart, and, if they stuck around long enough, these strangers would be sure to discover that on their own.

Itylus seemed puzzled. "But he's so...small."

Obelix again nodded in agreement. "He is, but there's a lot more to him then meets the eye. He's kind, and honest, and brave, and-" And a Solas Anam. He was talking too much again. Suddenly, he didn't like the man asking him questions about his best friend. Asterix was small, yes. Obelix sometimes forgot that. He was small and, without the potion, susceptible to danger. He did _not_ want Asterix in danger again. Never again. Lowering his eyes, Obelix changed the subject. "Let's go to bed." Bending down, he lifted Dogmatix in his arms. He placed the pup in the corner, where several blankets serves as the dog's bed. "If you need anything, just call," he informed Itylus, and with that, he climbed the ladder once more, leaving his guest down below. The sun was rising, and sleep was calling to him.

He fell asleep almost before his head even hit the pillow.

* * *

 _Pain._

 _Pain so terrible, that it blocked all other senses. Even the sense of feeling was numb. Numb and cold and cruel. As if heartless, it ripped and tore, causing agony that reached far, far inside._

 _It got worse._

 _His breathing was being cut off. The burn in his lungs were almost more than he could stand. But worse was the evil presence. That dark entity without mercy, forcing its way inside of him. Reaching inside to grasp with cold, clawed magic._

 _He couldn't let that monster take it! He couldn't!_

 _But it was useless. There was nothing to do. Nothing, but writhe in the terrible pain. Things began to grow darker. Darker._

 _He knew he was dying..._

With a ragged gasp, Asterix broke free from his nightmare, bolting upright, causing the straw mattress to rustle sharply. Wild eyes took in the lightening dawn that crept through the window, covered by a thick blanket though it was. Asterix panted, the sheeting bunched up around his middle, trying to calm his pounding heart. He lay one hand over his chest, willing the loud beats to quiet themselves, while his other hand went to his head, trying to ease his troubled mind. It took far longer than he liked, but finally he managed to convince his panicked body that it had all been a dream. Nothing more than a nightmare.

And how he hated those nightmares.

With a rare sense of despair sweeping over him, Asterix let his face fall into his hands. He wouldn't cry. No, he was past crying over this. This was an ache, a wish, that his memories would all just disappear into the dark corners of his mind and stay there. But instead, they carried over into the night, escaping his subconscious while he slept.

"Why does this keep _happening?_ " he whispered hoarsely to himself in the breaking darkness. He tried to keep quiet, hoping he hadn't made any noise that would have awakened his guest downstairs. Asterix gripped his tousled hair in frustration. He had been doing so _well_. The nightmares had long since faded. They still lingered, but the vivid images had diminished quite a bit in the last five months. Then why, _why,_ had they resurfaced with such violence tonight? Why had those terrible feelings and thoughts broken out upon him again, shattering his sleeping soul so painfully?

Asterix pulled his knees up to his chest, resting his head against them. He had the strange thought of how much like a frightened child he must look. And, indeed, he felt like one. The fleeting idea to go and visit Obelix passed his mind. Obelix had helped him through the nightmares before, back when they had been at their worst. Obelix had always been that source of comfort, that safety line that he wasn't even sure he would have survived without. Obelix had eased the pain so much. But, now, Asterix pushed the idea from his mind. He could not run off to find his friend like a panicked little boy; not when there was a guest in his hut, as well as that of his friend. It was a private matter, one that Asterix hoped to keep to himself. Only the village knew of his mental struggle, but they understood. A stranger would not.

And so it was that the Warrior settled back down in his bed, staring up at the raftered ceiling, waiting for the sun to rise.

* * *

The rooster crowed _way_ too early.

It felt as though Obelix had just fallen asleep when Chanticleerix* gave the first call. It was loud, and grated on his nerves like iron on stone, but, then again, he was rather curious to start the day. Obelix liked company. And there were twenty-four new persons in the village that he knew nothing about. Which, to be honest, was both exciting, and frightening.

Groggily, and sending a glare toward the window from where the crowing came, Obelix got up. He realized he had fallen asleep in his clothes, and, therefore, only had to shave before heading downstairs. He wasn't all that surprised to find Itylus already awake, and he greeted the man accordingly.

"G'morning." It came out as a tired mumble, but friendly nonetheless.

Itylus gave a mild grunt and a nod in return, back to his usual, expressionless demeanor. He was making his bed, folding the sheets so that one could have bounced a sestertius* on it's smooth surface. Perfection seemed to be a must with the fellow, and Obelix vaguely wondered if the other travelers were like that too. His posture was perfect, his hair was perfect, and his body was fit, trim, and muscular. Like Tragicomix. Maybe even more so.

"Have you been up long?" Obelix inquired, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Indeed," came the curt reply. "For some time. I awoke and ran the length of your village, and participated in morning exercises with others of my company. Tell me, do all you Gauls sleep so late?"

Obelix gawked at the man's obvious disapproval. His gaze turned to the window, where the sun had just barely broken the horizon in the East. If _this_ was Itylus's idea of 'sleeping late', Obelix didn't know what the man would have said if he knew what time he _usually_ got up. "It was a late night last night," Obelix answered, a bit defensively. "We had to catch up on what we lost." When in reality, he felt that he hadn't caught up on anything. At best, he had only gotten a total of two hours of actual sleep. How could Itylus run on even less?

"Where is your food?"

The question snapped Obelix out of his thoughts, and awakened his own hunger. "Oh, um, normally in the pantry. We store stuff for the winter, but, ah, there's none left." He grinned sheepishly. "I ate it up around late autumn."

Itylus blinked, his dark eyes showing their confusion. "Then...where do you get your meals?"

"Oh, I go boar hunting with Asterix every morning. We hunt for the whole village sometimes." He thought about it a moment. "But, if your hungry now, I'm sure you can go over to Vitalstitistix's hut. He has an extra storehouse, you know, for emergencies and visitors. He can feed you."

Itylus nodded. "It would give me a chance to speak with Lycurgus." A far away look came to his eyes, as though something was on his mind. "I have something of importance to discuss with him."

Obelix shrugged, not really worried about affairs he probably wouldn't understand anyway. He looked about for Dogmatix, suddenly very aware of his absence. He found the pup in his usual corner, awake, but unmoving. "Come on, Dogmatix. Walkies."

The small terrier cocked its head, looking reluctant. With a sideways gaze pinned on Itylus, Dogmatix slowly rose from his nest of rags and straw. Staying as far from the stranger as he could, the pup made his way to his master's hands. Obelix picked him up, unaware of the dog's anxiety.

Dogmatix's sense of danger, just like every one else's in the village, had been heightened since the incident with Mastix. It was already far sharper than any human's. He felt uneasy around this particular person. In fact, he didn't like any of the strangers. Something foul and uncertain had tainted the air. And Dogmatix found it disturbing that his master had not yet sensed it himself.

"Alright, we can go. I'll want to find Asterix anyway, and I'm sure he'll be there, if he isn't already." With that, Obelix headed out the door, with his guest trailing behind him. The man didn't seem to mind the cold, still wearing very little for the time of year. And Obelix found himself wondering how the man wasn't ill from the weather, dressed as he was. Not that it mattered. Obelix himself was perfectly fine. It was just, normally, he found, people not under the influence that he was under usually found the winter far less durable.

* * *

 ***Chanticleerix - The name of the village rooster. Something really funny is that my family once owned a rooster who we named Chanticleer. And that was years before I had even _heard_ of the Asterix comics. :)**

 ***Sestertius - Or sestertii, was a coin of the day. It was a cauldron full of these that Asterix lost in the comic book "Asterix and the Cauldron".**

 **Sorry this chapter is a little bit shorter, but I felt this was a good place to stop. :) I've had my grandparents up for the last several days, so writing has had to wait. :)**


	4. Unease

Impedimenta had always been a very social woman. She liked company, and often, in the past, had found it as an excuse to show off her home to anyone visiting their village. She liked the hustle and bustle it brought, having been born and raised in Lutetia where fashion, material objects, and status were a large part of one's life. She had grown up with the belief that the more you had, the more you were considered among the fortunate and the wealthy. And she had held that belief right up until she had married Vitalstitistix and had moved away to live in the village. Vitalstitistix, compared to most other chiefs, was considerably poor. And that had been a problem, at first. Impedimenta's family had looked down upon the young man, seeing him as somewhat inferior. Even Impedimenta herself had considered him as such. But, due to the man's persistence, and determination, he had finally won over her heart.

As time passed, Impedimenta had realized that the finer things in life were not what made one richer than others. It was the love and devotion of true friendship and love. Though she complained, she would never admit how content she was in the village, as opposed to her life back in Lutetia. The village was her home now, and she could picture no other. Needless to say she still carried some of her old habits. Company was still used as an excuse to show what, to her, was her riches.

But, even for her, there was a limit.

One or two guests were a pleasure. Three or four might be difficult, but manageable. But _twenty_ -four was really pushing it. They weren't all in her home at once, thank Toutatis; at least not since the night before, but still, they came and went as though the hut belonged to them. And Impedimenta was finding it very trying to her patience.

The hut was currently inhabited with three couples, including Lycurgus and his wife. Others of the traveler's group came in and out throughout the morning, asking questions or just wanting to speak with Lycurgus. Impedimenta found she enjoyed Agafya's company. The leader's wife was quiet and soft-spoken, but an enormous help. She assisted in cooking up breakfast for anyone who came looking for one, and with that assistance, Impedimenta's temper diminished. The two worked together in the kitchen, chatting as they worked, the calm effecting the Gaulish woman's nerves and soothing her anger. Though she did manage to get out one final, string of nagging that effectively chased her husband from the kitchen's vicinity.

With a stumble, Vitalstitistix allowed himself to be rushed out of the pantry and pushed through the gray blanket that hung over the door, separating it from the rest of the hut. His stomach growled impatiently, but all he could do was pat it in sad comfort. Impedimenta had 'informed' him that breakfast wouldn't be ready for some time, and that he'd do best to hover elsewhere. Straightening his tunic, the chieftain walked through to the very large curtain that divided his home into two, equal parts, one for living in and one for working in. While his married life was dominated by his wife's strong will, his audience room, where he ruled over the problems and business of the village, he was in charge. Whenever he was feeling particularly hen-pecked, he would resort to his place on the raised, wooden throne of his position. Only, today, rather than proceeding with his usual plan, Vitalstitistix moved the curtain aside carefully, just enough to let him through, and then stood silently, fidgeting with the hem of his dark, green clothing.

Before him, in the outer room, Lycurgus studied the shields that adorned the walls of Vitalstitistix's audience chamber. His eyebrows twitched in curiosity, slowly shifting over the colorful, rounded bits of craftsmanship. There were several, of various shapes and sizes, some small and others large. They hung on the wall to the right of the chieftain's throne, just below the rafters of the thatched roof. Lycurgus's expression, as always, was deeply concentrated, and yet, almost without feeling. Something that still unnerved Vitalstitistix, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it. The Gaulish chieftain stood behind their visitor, following his gaze to the shields, and reading the question that must be running through the man's mind.

"Those belonged to my father," he stated, almost afraid to break the silence with his intrusion. Though, what he said wasn't quite true. No chief owned any shield but his own. He was only the steward of those from chieftains past. But Vitalstitistix didn't expect the stranger to understand that, and so he kept it simple.

Lycurgus nodded, not even giving him a glance. As if he had already known he was there. "Your father," he began slowly, still eyeing the shields. "He was also chief of this village?"

Vitalstitistix puffed out his chest, his pride getting the best of him. "Yes, and he was a good one at that. He did his best in every situation. Why he-"

"Was he a warrior?" Lycurgus interrupted. His eyes had finally turned and latched onto the chieftain's face, staring him right in the eyes. Vitalstitistix gave a nervous chuckled, taking an involuntary step back.

"In his own way. He fought, as we all do...For our freedom."

The corner of Lycurgus's mouth lifted upward slightly, in what might have been a smile. "Hm. Freedom." His eyes took on a faraway look before refocusing on his host. "Then, tell me, why does he need so many shields?"

"Oh, those," the chieftain whispered to himself, before answering more clearly. "Those are the shields of all our past chiefs. With each new leader of our village, comes a new shield." He gestured to one in particular, one of oblong shape and polished with bits of silver over its brazen surface. "That one belonged to my father. Someday, my shield will hang beside his." Vitalstitistix's voice held a tone of great respect, and maybe a hint of sadness. So much for keeping it simple. But Lycurgus seemed truly curious.

"He is dead, then."

The words seemed so harsh coming from the stranger that Vitalstitistix physically cringed. "Yes...Yes, he has been, for quite some time." He really didn't want to talk about it anymore. The subject of his father always left a dull ache in the chieftain's heart. He dreaded that Lycurgus would want to know more, and it seemed that that would be the case. He mentally braced himself, his emotional barriers falling into place in an effort to protect himself. But, thankfully, he was steeling himself for a conversation that would never come.

"Asterix!" Obelix came stomping in with a loud, thrumming greeting and a questioning look. His feet were caked with snow, and a number of small, white snowflakes glistened in his red hair and atop his metal helmet. Dogmatix, cold and shivering, was nestled in his master's hands, which had shielded him from the morning flurries. "Is Asterix here?"

Vitalstitistix let out a relieved sigh. Stepping back from his guest by several hurried paces, he gratefully turned all his attention to the large new arrival. "No, Obelix; he's not here yet, but I expect he will be. You know how he likes to be at the center of things." He smiled slightly as he watched Obelix shake the snow from his shoes before entering the hut fully. That had been a routine all the Gauls had learned to do, unless they wished to suffer Impedimenta's wrath.

Lycurgus had turned his attention to the door as well, watching as the large Gaul had squeezed in, followed by Itylus. His dark, sharp eyes took in the man, obviously finding him all at once more interesting than the shields above him. His stare, again, proceeded to take in Obelix with an intense calculation that made the Gaul quite nervous. Just like the night before. Obelix returned his gaze uncertainly, until he was distracted by his chieftain's greeting, and a question as to the day's weather.

Itylus's eyes met those of his leader, lighting up in relieved recognition. Sending Obelix a slight bow of courtesy, the fellow began walking urgently up to his superior's side. Placing his mouth close to Lycurgus's ear, he gave a quick series of whispers, shooting a look in Obelix's direction more than once. The large Gaul himself was occupied with reporting the day's appearance to his chieftain and then heading toward the kitchen, where an ambrosial aroma guided him. Vitalstitistix grabbed a hold of his friend's thick, muscular arm.

"Ah, Obelix...I wouldn't go in there if I were you. Impedimenta has...been a little on edge this morning. Rest assured she'll let us know when it's time to eat." His smile was meant to ease what Obelix might see as a cruel command. It never occurred to either of them that Obelix was strong enough to wrench his arm free, push Vitalstitistix aside, and do as he pleased, with or without Impedimenta's approval. It was never even considered. The large Gaul's face darkened with disappointment, but he turned and found a stool to sit on, mumbling his hunger woes to Dogmatix, who cocked his head and whined sympathetically.

Lycurgus listened to Itylus with a frown, before his eyes widened, flicking in Obelix's direction as well. Straightening, Lycurgus addressed his host even more stiffly than before. "Chief Vitalstitistix, I will go to have audience with Itylus, my Right Hand, in private. I shall return. We will be left undisturbed." It was not a request, but more of a warning. Strong, firm, and above all, not to be questioned.

Vitalstitistix nodded, swallowing nervously. This man was one you had a certain threat about his, whether he meant to or not. Maybe it was because he towered over the Gauls in height and strength. Vitalstitistix stepped aside, allowing the man a clear walk out of doors, despite the fact that he was nowhere near it. Obelix followed the two men with his eyes, curious, but still distracted by his growling stomach. Lycurgus and Itylus headed out, an air of purpose in their faces, but, as they did so, a small figure entered the archway, completely blocking the way and stopping Lycurgus short before he could run into the little man.

Asterix blinked up at Lycurgus, who he had almost run into. He was surprised to come so close to their stranger, especially since his goal since last night had been to stay out of the man's way. He had sensed that the fellow didn't much care for him, and Asterix felt very much the same way. There was a moment where, almost toe to toe, the two men stood staring at one another, one downward and one up. The hairs on the back of Asterix's neck rose, a warning of unease that kept his feet planted where they were, rather than letting him step back and out of the way. The leader of the strangers stared down his long nose, frowning with a look of momentary annoyance passing over his features. Asterix felt his brain tell him to move, but something else fixed him to the spot. Something in the stranger's eyes that awakened something in him; a memory. A bad one. Though he couldn't quite grasp what it was.

"Asterix?"

 _That was Getafix's voice._

The little Gaul felt two, weathered hands rest upon his shoulders, pulling him back and out of Lycurgus's way. "Asterix, I think that we should let our guest out the door," the druid said humorously, though with a hint of worry. He sent Lycurgus an apologetic nod, confused by the warrior's behavior, but knowing that Asterix would not respond this way without reason. He was sure to interrupt the short Gaul carefully, easing him gently to the side.

Asterix looked back and up at him, his mouth open as if to speak, and an expression of bewilderment on his face, before he began to realize what he had just done. "Oh...Oh, yes...I'm sorry." He blinked a few times. "I didn't mean to be in the way. Good morning, Lycurgus," he intoned pleasantly, trying to keep his discomfort hidden. He had to struggle further to conceal the shiver that all at once spread down his spine when the traveler gave him a disapproving glare. Why did these strangers do that? They all seemed to regard him with contempt, and frowns, as though he had no right to even exist.

"Good morning," Itylus answered instead, also very stiffly. His eyes flitted between the two men, as though he expected Lycurgus to do something about the blond Gaul. It appeared he could feel the tension, and was doing his best to defuse the situation before it worsened, something that Getafix also seemed to be striving for. "We were just heading out."

"Indeed," Getafix answered cheerfully, waving a hand toward the frozen world outside. "Feel completely free to do so. It's a bit cold, but otherwise, quite pleasant." The druid managed to smile, and kept that smile until Lycurgus and Itylus had passed and gone. Then, all at once Asterix felt himself being quickly pushed inside, and the wooden door being creaked shut quite loudly behind him. Then Getafix was kneeling in front of him, hands clutching the sides of both his arms, his concern quite noticeable. "Asterix, is anything wrong?" He reached out to touch his forehead, but Asterix leaned away sharply, though not before the druid had felt the heat radiating from his skin.

"I'm fine."

Getafix sighed. "You, Asterix, are nothing of the kind. You feel warm. Are you ill?" Behind him, Getafix felt rather than saw Obelix stand to his feet. The large Gaul was stiff and alert, all at once worried over his best friend's health.

Asterix backed away from his friend's hold, gentle in doing so, but clearly agitated by the sudden attention. "Getafix, I tell you, I'm alright. I just didn't sleep well last night." He shot a glance at Obelix, immediately wishing he hadn't said that. Obelix would know it was nightmares. Of all those present, he would be the one to know. And from the sudden focus in the large Gaul's eyes, Asterix knew he did. "Lycurgus makes me nervous," he stated, changing the subject, though not nearly as much as it seemed.

Vitalstitistix gave a huff somewhere between a shiver and a sigh. "You're not the only one. I tell you, that man is as stiff as a slice of last year's bread. And he hasn't an ounce of tact in him at all."

"He _is_ rude at times," Asterix agreed, casting a look toward the door. "Though it's hard to say whether he means to be, or that's just the way he acts. He carries an air of authority and superiority. Much like Caesar does."

"But he's not Caesar," Obelix spoke up, quite sure. He was certain that he would have noticed. He didn't even realize how ridiculous his statement sounded, he was too busy studying Asterix carefully.

Asterix frowned. "No, I mean, his attitude is like Caesar's. All stiff and serious. Strong and threatening. As though he sees us as the little people whose only purpose is to do as he says." His heart gave a slight flutter, remembering that such traits in a man were never good.

"None of those things are enough to condemn a man as a foe, Asterix," Getafix grunted, his voice low and stern. This conversation had been going on since earlier that morning, when the druid had stopped by the warrior's hut. "And he certainly hasn't done anything wrong." He released a steadying breath. He had to keep in mind that Asterix was still greatly disturbed from Mastix's attack on the village. It only made sense that the little Gaul would be so worried and suspicious, even if there was no cause for it. Which, Getafix wasn't denying. He just understood something that Asterix didn't seem to be grasping at the moment. That they very well might not be a danger at all. "Asterix, listen. I feel that Lycurgus is _confused_. As a Solas Anam, I know you can feel it also. But he has given no sign of hostility, other than the sometimes insulting way in which he has addressed us. We cannot condemn him for that."

"He sees himself as above us," Asterix replied, somewhat hesitantly, not looking his druid in the eye. "And I do feel his confusion, Getafix. It's thick, and swirling. Hard to read." Which made him all the more nervous.

"Still no reason to treat him as an enemy." The druid reached out try feel his friend's fever, but again the short Gaul dodged his hand. "For Toutatis sake, Asterix! I feel like I'm arguing with a stubborn child! If you are ill, I must know!" The situation might have been funny had Getafix not been so uneasy. Asterix relented, holding still while the druid determined his temperature. Getafix sighed in relief. "Nothing serious. I'll get you something to bring it down, but it's only a small fever." He caught Asterix's look of frustration. Deciding to ignore it, Getafix returned to the previous conversation, still intent on having his say. "Lycurgus is a leader of many. A _defender_ of many. You know what that is like. Don't place a label on him before you've given him a chance. I agree with you. I don't much care for him either. He _could_ be a threat, but you can't treat him as one until there is just cause. You know that. Look at both sides. The good and the bad."

Asterix looked slightly hurt at his friend's chastening, and Getafix almost took his words back and apologized. Almost. He expected the young Gaul to become angry, but instead, Asterix simply sighed in defeat. "I'm sorry, Getafix. It's just...something in him scares me..." He let out a dry chuckle, passing a hand over his eyes to press against his temple in frustration. "...You must be right. I'm seeing things where there's nothing to be seen. It's a wonder any of you can put up with me at all." It was so final, and unlike Asterix, that for a moment no one spoke. The warrior stood, head bowed, eyes fixed on the floor.

Getafix sighed again, much more deeply this time. That wasn't the point he had been trying to make. Walking forward, he rested a hand on Asterix's shoulder. "I'm the one who should be sorry," he conceded softly. "None of us have gotten much sleep; we're tired and aren't thinking straight." The druid exchanged looks with the two uncomfortable Gauls behind him. "I don't sense anything in Lycurgus, other than uncertainty...though he seems to hide it well. But I too am tired...I could be wrong." Turning back to Asterix, he gave the Gaul's shoulder a comforting pat. "I'm not telling you he's innocent. I just want you to know that he _might_ be. We'll be cautious...but not accusing. If your picking up something that I can't, which is more than possible, than we should be ready. Isn't that right, Vitalstitistix?" He turned to give the chief a questioning look, a mix of apology and insistence that Vitalstitistix voice his agreement.

Vitalstitistix nodded numbly, his past mistakes in that area being prodded painfully, though Getafix had no idea his words had done so. The chieftain still blamed himself quite harshly for allowing Mastix into the village so easily, and his greatest fear at the moment would be that he might have made the same mistake again with these strangers. But, again, what else could he have done? Left them out in the cold to die? "Yes, Getafix."

Obelix looked between the druid and the chieftain, absently stroking Dogmatix, who still lay in his palm. He didn't like the way this conversation had headed, nor how quickly it had gone there. Getafix was right, at least in that they were all tired. Nearly all of them had dark circles under their eyes, and an air of drowsiness that showed in their sluggish movements. But Obelix couldn't help noticing that Asterix was even more so. He kept messaging his forehead, as though it pained him, and his gaze consisted of peering through slits of tired lids. Over the years, Obelix had learned to recognize that look. It was the look of stress, and fear, and uncertainty. Asterix only looked like that when he was too upset to sleep. Had gotten no sleep at all. It was a look like his friend had held every night, for weeks, after Mastix's attack. A dull, shaky nervousness, stemmed from mental unease and lack of rest. It was a look that Asterix always got when something was wrong. When something was going to happen.

Vitalstitistix noticed it too, and felt a wave of frustration sweep through him. It was obvious to him, as well as all the Gauls, that, though Asterix had recovered incredibly since the whole disaster with the evil druid, he was still...struggling. Couldn't Getafix see that? Vitalstitistix knew he did. Then why was the druid pushing Asterix so hard? As a warrior, it was Asterix's duty to report anything he believed was important. Why did it feel like Getafix was brushing him off? But, deep down, frustrated though he was, Vitalstitistix knew the answer. Though he might not understand, he knew that Getafix had a reason. And that reason could only be for Asterix's own good. And so, despite how he felt, the chief took a deep breath and let it go.

Getafix himself felt terrible. The spirit beaten look in Asterix's eyes pained the druid to see. He hated that look that had lingered far to long, and yet, he was forced to make it even more visible. The blond Gaul was torn between two views, one based on his feelings, and one based on what he knew was right. It was an impossible choice. One that Asterix had faced many times before and mastered...but not since Mastix. The incident had been the hardest adventure for the Gauls to date, but had required Asterix making a choice between the same two impossible views. His feelings, or his sense of judgement. Asterix had chosen the first...and it had almost cost him his life. Funny thing was, was that Getafix believed he had made the right choice. The _problem_ was that Asterix didn't. The blond Gaul hadn't really said much about it, and Getafix couldn't make him, but from bits and pieces Getafix had gathered that Asterix not only regretted his actions, but that he was afraid of making the same 'mistake' again.

Uncertainty wasn't a characteristic that aided any warrior. It was a crippling that Getafix hadn't anticipated. And though he knew that Asterix didn't understand his methods, the druid was determined to heal what had been hurt. By forcing Asterix to see both views, and weighing all the options, just like he used to, Getafix hoped that his confidence would return. And the damage would be undone.

Impedimenta stuck her head through the curtain. "Breakfast's ready," she hummed, before she felt the tension in the room and froze, uncertain whether she should have interrupted. Silence reigned a moment, but then Obelix's stomach gave a loud, insistent growl.

The tension was broken with a hardy laugh shared by all.

* * *

"You are sure?"

Lycurgus bore his eyes into those of his Right Hand, to the point that Itylus felt as though they were digging into his very soul. His heart twisted, as it usually did, in a mix of reverence and fear. It made a lump form in his throat, the kind that couldn't be swallowed. "Yes, My Lord. I am certain. I saw it with my own eyes, how he lifted a carved stone of immense size without the least bit of effort. He spoke of great strength that resides in this village of Gauls. But he would not say how, where, or what it is that makes them so."

Lycurgus nodded, his eyes looking up at the crisp sky above them. Standing out in the snow, he did not shiver, or cringe as the wind sent ice particles against his skin. The weather could not touch him, as he stood braced and strong, his cape ever at his back. "Tell the others to keep their ears open. I want to understand this power, and why it is only this one Gaul who has it continually. For I have seen these men, and they have no strength. And yet, this Obelix says they do. I want to know how and why, Itylus."

"Yes, My Lord."

The leader began to walk back toward the chieftain's hut, as his Right Hand turned to go the opposite direction. He paused. "And, Itylus?"

Turning swiftly, the Right Hand returned his full attention to his leader. "Yes, My Lord?"

"It would seem our misfortune has been exchanged for luck. Ares smiles down upon us, and we would be weak to not grasp our chance. I believe we have found our own Lacedaemon...and we shall make it ours. And it will be greater than the old. I shall see to it." His smile was one of fierce pride and patriotism, but from behind it loomed a threat, that even sent chills down the spine of his own man.

"It will be as you say, My Lord."

* * *

 **There! Finally! I'm starting to get back in the swing of things. School starts Tuesday, so I'll be back in college. As always, that may or may not effect how often I get to write and post. I often find I write better the less time I have to do it. Heh. Weird. ;)**


	5. Needling Confusion

By the time Lycurgus had returned to the hut, the tension among the Gauls had all but disappeared. With breakfast in their previously empty stomachs, things seemed far more hopeful than they had before. Asterix felt re-energized by the warm meal, and had very nearly forgotten the traveler's existence, until the man walked through the door once again.

Even though Asterix was fairly certain that Lycurgus was up to no good, he did agree with Getafix in that he was not...evil. At least, he didn't _feel_ evil. Not like Mastix had felt evil. With the druid, Asterix had been able to tell. He could almost sense it, coming off of Mastix in waves. As the months had passed, and the blond Gaul had exercised the use of the knowledge about himself he had learned in his previous adventure, painful though it had been. He was continually amazed what unusual skills he possessed as a Solas Anam. It wasn't magic. That he knew. But it was indeed a gift, though he certainly hadn't considered it one for a long while. But he found that his intuition, which he had always followed, was a large part of that gift. He could sense things about places and people that the others couldn't. He could tell, to a small degree, whether the situation felt right, or if a particular individual felt right. Now that he was aware of this, Asterix used it to his advantage. But, again, Getafix was right. He was probably diving into it a little too much. His frightening experience five months before still haunted him, affecting the way he now did things, and went about his day. Small things, that only those closest to him noticed, like the fact that, when he went hunting in the forest with Obelix, he never went through a certain forest clearing. In fact, he went out of his way to avoid it. Thankfully, Obelix seemed to understand, even without Asterix having to explain. He never asked questions about it, and always followed Asterix's lead around it.

There were other oddities that some of the Gauls had noticed. Asterix was a little more withdrawn than he used to be, for one. He had always been far more composed and private than the other villagers, but now he sometimes spent hours alone. He didn't seem to be sulking, or anything of that sort, just lost in thought. And then there were the nightmares. Asterix still failed to realize just how easily it was for his friends to tell when he had had one. Something in his face and stance would always give it away, and, should they bring it up, he always brushed it off as though it were nothing at all. And then there was the unyielding scar they all held. That mistrust of the world outside the Village that hung over them all like a cloud. It was really a miracle they had let Lycurgus and his followers in at all.

 _Oh, yes...Lycurgus._

Asterix blinked, clearing his thoughts, realizing that the traveler himself was addressing him and the others. He hadn't meant to let his mind wander, but, again, it was something that happened quite often now. He couldn't seem to help it. It was an escape he didn't need. Everything was perfectly fine in the village now. There was no need to be withdrawn. There was no need to be unfocused and worried. And yet, he was.

"...seeing as they are still outside, probably rusting in this weather." Lycurgus finished whatever he had been saying, looking at Asterix expectantly.

All eyes turned to Asterix, as if they expected him to answer the man. The short Gaul felt his cheeks warm in embarrassment, not knowing anything of what Lycurgus was asking him. "I...I'm sorry...What is it you want?" It pained him to say it. It was practically like admitting that he hadn't been paying any attention...Which he hadn't been. But he was aware of how incompetent it made him out to be, and, lately, he definitely felt he fit the part. Lycurgus already seemed to hold a very low opinion of him. Contempt. This certainly wouldn't help that image any. His mind was so easily distracted these days. It was a wonder he ever got anything done at all. "I was...lost in thought." The Gauls who were present exchanged uneasy glances.

Lycurgus frowned disapprovingly. His expression held a certain amount of offence, and a large portion of sneering distaste. "The _swords_ ," he repeated irritably. "The _swords_ you so tactfully made my people throw into the snow and leave outside your village all last night. We should like to have them returned. Immediately."

Instinctively, Asterix asked the first thing that came to his mind. "Why?" But then corrected himself when he saw the look of warning Getafix sent in his direction. "I mean, I'd like to give them back to you, and I will, but we Gauls have decided that, while you are within our walls, you will have no need of them." He paused, adding softly, "It's safer."

"I fail to understand, _Warrior_ , how not having access to our weapons makes anything 'safer'." His smile was belittling, as though he were trying to convey a concept to a mentally challenged child. "If the Romans should attack, we would have no way to defend ourselves other than our fists, and I hardly believe that would prove very valuable."

"Oh, you'd be surprised," Obelix spoke up absently. "It's easier than one might think, seeing as all the fresh Romans are as easy to knock over as a feather." He continued on his sixth bowl of Impedimenta's boar soup, not the least bit aware of the effect his words had had on those around him. The Gauls, Asterix in particular, stiffened, seemingly frozen, their eyes flitting to Lycurgus's puzzled face. The traveler, though obviously confused, didn't question Obelix's meaning. Instead, he returned his gaze to Asterix, a hint of impatience in his face.

Asterix sighed. "Lycurgus, I know it seems ridiculous, but if you're going to stay here, I'm afraid that we have to hold onto your weapons. We brought them in. They're safe with Fulliautomatix, our blacksmith. He'll take care of them, I assure you. I also assure you that nothing will happen to you and your people while you are within these walls. The Romans tend to leave us alone. The problems we've had in the past..." He paused, struggling to focus on the present rather than the images that threatened to play in his mind. "In the past, it's been those who find there way inside that are a danger to us. You can understand our concern, can't you? We can't afford to be...careless." He hoped that hadn't sounded to accusing.

Lycurgus looked down his nose at him, seemly weighing his words before speaking. "Hmm. It is weak to give in to the wishes of those who are your guests..." His face took on a look that was the closest thing the man had yet come to approval. "Especially when they are far stronger and forceful then yourselves. Caution is not necessarily always a lack of strength." He huffed. "Keep our weapons. We will wait until we leave before we receive them again."

Asterix mentally sighed in relief. "Thank you for understanding."

That expression of contempt returned. "It is not a matter of understanding," he responded coldly, "It is a matter of..." He cut off sharply, changing the subject, as though Asterix wasn't worth the explanation. "I should like to have a tour of your village."

Vitalstitistix exchanged a glance with Getafix. "Well, that's easily enough arranged. I'll sent for someone t-"

"I should like you to do it," Lycurgus interrupted, speaking to Obelix directly. The large Gaul looked surprised, a spoonful of soup halfway to his mouth. He set it down hurriedly. "I suppose I could," he spoke up truthfully. "I haven't any deliveries to make today, and it would do Dogmatix good to get some air." The pup yipped in agreement, though he seemed somewhat reluctant in Lycurgus's presence. "We can go right now if you like." He upturned the bowl, draining its contents and swallowing, dragging a bare arm over his mouth and mustache. In the corner, Impedimenta muttered something about lack of manners.

"I do," was the traveler's only answer, as he gathered his cloak and turned toward the door.

Asterix sent Obelix a slightly panicked glance, trying to decide whether he liked the idea of his best friend out and about with Lycurgus. He still felt very uneasy about him, besides the fact that he was just, all in all, a very unpleasant man. Evil? Maybe not, but unpredictable, definitely. Then again, even if Lycurgus was someone to fear, Asterix doubted he could do anything to Obelix. With his strength, there was hardly a thing in this world that could touch his large friend. Not that Obelix was unbeatable. He had his weaknesses, just as everyone does. He wasn't indestructible. He was strong, true, but a blade or an arrow could do just as much harm to him as to any other man. Asterix sometimes forgot that. But Lycurgus had no weapon, other than his fist, as the distasteful fellow had so blatantly pointed out, and that would be virtuously useless against Obelix. With effort, Asterix swallowed his concern. Obelix could handle himself. He was an adult after all. He could decide for himself whether something was dangerous or not.

Unknown to the blond Gaul, Obelix was feeling equally uneasy. Lycurgus made him uncomfortable, and that was putting it mildly. The way the stranger always seemed to gaze at him was unnerving. Made Obelix feel like an attraction in Caesar's arena. There weren't very many things that bothered Obelix. Or scared him. Losing his friends had to be the most prominent one, seeing as he hardly ever had to worry about his own safety. Almost losing Asterix five months before had hit him hard. Though he didn't trust Lycurgus in the least, he was somewhat relieved that the man seemed more interested in him than in Asterix. The last time someone had taken interest in their warrior, Asterix had very nearly died. Obelix knew he would never be able to go through that again. It would destroy him. It almost had. If he had to spend a little one on one time with the stoic, unpleasant fellow, in order to keep him away from Asterix, so be it. Lycurgus couldn't do anything to him.

Getting up from the table, Obelix followed Lycurgus out the door, leaving the others to go about their day. Asterix sighed as he watched his best friend disappear out the door, convincing himself one more time that Obelix knew what he was doing.

At least, Asterix hoped he did.

* * *

"...And this is Cacofonix's tree. He's our bard."

Obelix had never realized how much fun it was to show someone the aspects of one's own home. It reminded him of when he was little, and some relative came to visit. At that age, a child's main pride and joy is to show the visitor every object he or she has ever owned. Every toy, treasure, and creation was shown in serious, but enthusiastic procession for the guest's enjoyment. Whether they truly found it an enjoyment or not fully counted on the individual, but was hardly ever noticed by the child. Obelix had been such a youngster. He recalled showing off his possessions to an aunt or uncle on several occasions, and now, as he moved swiftly from one place to another, pointing out the sights of his small village, the same affectionate warmth glowed in his heart. To share his home, his world, with another person gave him far more pleasure than he would have expected.

Lycurgus was a different man. Since they had left the chieftain's hut, he had seemed to loosen up, far more at ease in Obelix's company than with any of the other Gauls. He was more communicative. More friendly. He didn't talk down to the large Gaul like he did with the others, sometimes his voice carrying a hint of respect. Obelix was completely baffled by it, but didn't question the behavior. It made his job of showing the village a lot less uncomfortable.

"Ah, yes. I met him last night. Tell me, why does your bard live so differently?" Lycurgus inquired, gazing up at the platformed cottage nestled in the branches above. "Does his position mean so much that you place him so high above the rest of the cottages?"

Obelix laughed out loud, but it was a fond laugh, not one of scorn. "Cacofonix would have you believe so, but no, that isn't the reason."

"Then what is?"

Obelix tilted his head, still chuckling. "Well, we tell him it's so he's closer to the gods. He sings many odes and such to them, though it's a wonder they haven't struck him down for it yet." His expression softened. "But, also, Cacofonix has always wanted to live in that tree, ever since he was little. I'm not sure why. Says it has to do with the view, and looking out for someone, though he's never told us who." His face took on a sad look, as if they didn't need the bard to tell them. Maybe they already knew, or at least suspected.

Lycurgus waved a hand disinterestedly, turning the conversation in his favor. "You mentioned his odes to the gods. By your words, you make him out to sound offensive in his talent. Does he sing poorly?"

"Uh..." Obelix tried to think of a way to answer that nicely, without sounding too harsh. He couldn't. "He's...working on it. And as long as he practices in the forest, none of us mind." If it was any consolation to anyone, the bard was a fine musician. His voice had always been horrendous, even as a child, but his talent for instruments was notable. Taught to read music by Getafix, he had learned many different types of tunes, in addition to his own, 'unique' style. He was skilled in that respect, even if his music was sometimes seen as odd, or grating to some people. Over the years, it had almost become a sort of tradition, to shut the bard up before he could utter a note. But no one minded his playing. He was even in charge of the village band. In that respect, he did his job quite well.

Lycurgus raised an eyebrow, continuing to strut forward through the snow, clearly perplexed. "What use is having a bard that cannot sing?"

Now it was Obelix's turn to be confused. His gaze searched for Dogmatix, trying to spot the small, white creature in the snow. He succeeded in locating him and called the pup with a whistle before turning to Lycurgus. "...Use?"

"Yes, use. In a society, everyone must serve a purpose. It makes a nation strong, standing steady against all its foes." He frowned, stopping and looking at Obelix directly. "Without proper purpose, society is weakened. The weak and those without purpose or use crumble such strength. They are a liability. Why does your chief even permit him to stay?"

Dogmatix struggled through the snowdrifts, finally making it to his master's waiting hands. Obelix picked him up, brushing the snow from the pup's back, before he returned his attention back to the conversation. "This is Cacofonix's home," he said simply. "He was born here. He's one of us. We would never make him leave if he didn't want to, and he doesn't." As an afterthought he added, "Not to mention, he's our friend. We all grew up together. We wouldn't dream of making him go."

Lycurgus nodded slowly, as if he was finally beginning to understand. He paused again, standing solid and surveying the village with a critical eye. Obelix wasn't sure what he was seeing, but he was pretty sure it wasn't the same warm, loving home he saw.

"You Gauls give a good deal of focus to sentiments."

"Sentiments?" Obelix tasted the word in his mouth uncertainly. The way the traveler used it, it made it out to be something bad. Obelix hadn't heard that word before. He hoped it was one that was alright to repeat. Asterix would be able to tell him. Or Getafix.

"Feelings and emotions," Lycurgus explained impatiently. "You pay more attention to the weak than the strong."

"Isn't...Isn't that what one is supposed to do?" Obelix asked hesitantly. "Look after those who have trouble doing so themselves?" Getafix had always told him that, as one of the stronger men, it was his job to protect those who couldn't defend themselves. Of course, in the village's case, few needed actual protection, other than the children. The Magic Potion almost made strength invaluable. But, naturally, Lycurgus didn't know that. And Obelix wasn't going to tell him.

The traveler shook his head, in an almost pitying way. "It is a liability," he repeated. "It holds back a peoples' potential for greatness and power."

"But we've never wanted either of those things. We're happy just the way we are."

"Indeed." Lycurgus gave the large Gaul an odd look. That same, calculating stare that made Obelix so uncomfortable. In the Gaul's hands, Dogmatix gave a low growl. The stranger came forward, closer to Obelix than he usually did, his voice lowering to a confiding whisper. "But you, you already posses these traits."

"I do? How?" Obelix couldn't help the wave of surprise and confusion that swept through him. He wished he understood this man better. With Lycurgus, everything felt as though it were spoken in riddles. Each word was a mystery that had to be deciphered before its true meaning could be determined. It was tiring, and made his head ache.

"Oh, come now. Surely you must realize that you contain an incredible strength of which I have never seen the likes of."

Obelix blushed. "Oh. Well, in that sense, I suppose I do. But I often forget, which sometimes makes trouble for me."

"How so?"

"Well, it's hard to control my strength sometimes. I'm so much bigger - not _fat_ , you understand, just _well_ _covered_ \- and so much stronger than the others. Sometimes I just...forget."

Lycurgus stroked his chin thoughtfully. There was a long pause before he spoke again, almost hurriedly. "Have you ever hurt anyone?"

The question was so tactless, it caught the large Gaul off guard. He blinked repeatedly, mouth opening and shutting a few times before he could get his voice to come out with anything coherent. "Y-Yes...O-Once...I...I got angry...Knocked Asterix so hard he acted strangely for hours afterward."

Lycurgus gave a chuckle, as if he delighted in Asterix's misfortune. As though he thought he deserved it. "Indeed."

Obelix felt his stomach turn slightly. That smirk on the stranger's face reminded him of many enemies he had encountered in the past. That almost predatory smile. Mastix had sported it. It made Obelix all at once very uncomfortable. "You needn't laugh!" he cried defensively. "It was awful! I thought I'd damaged him for good!"

Lycurgus stopped, but his face still glowed with a strange amusement. "You care for this Asterix, don't you?"

Now there was a question Obelix could answer with certainty. "He's my closest friend, ever since we were little. Born on the same day and everything." He stroked Dogmatix's fur, eyes resting on the ground as he thought back to all their many adventures together. They really had been through so much, both good and bad. He never really took time to think back, and see just how far they had come from the day Asterix had sneaked him into Getafix's hut to taste the Magic Potion. Since then, Asterix had become far more responsible, and he had become far more confident. It was truly an amazing concept.

"Again with the sentiments," the traveler sighed, rolling his eyes in exasperation. He gave the Gaul another pitying look. "Obelix, don't you realize that, if you were to use your strength, you could rule this village very easily?"

Obelix looked up abruptly, not seeing how the odd question had managed to pop up out of seemingly nowhere. Lycurgus seemed to have a knack for leading a conversation in the way he wished it to go. "No," Obelix replied firmly. "And I don't want to either."

"Ah." Lycurgus gave a knowing nod of his head. "You are afraid. That is understandable. With great power comes great danger."

Obelix opened his mouth to argue the fact that he was _nowhere_ _near_ the term 'afraid', but then cut himself off worriedly. "Now wait a...What do you mean danger?"

"Those with strength often become...corrupted," the traveler explained, slowly, as if it were some horrible secret. "The power goes to their head." He tapped a finger to his own temple repeatedly before lowering it to his side. He paused once more, eyeing the Gaul questioningly. "Would you ever hurt Asterix again on purpose?"

"Of course not!"

"Ah, but someday you might."

"Never!" Obelix would never even _dream_ of it. Unless it was a nightmare. He had never even thought of such a horrible thing. Asterix was the closest thing he had to a brother. They were as close as any two friends could get. The question scared him, terribly. What kind of person asked a question like that? Why would he ever ask something like that? It caused a horrible uneasiness to grow within him, and he instinctively backed away a few steps. "Never!"

"Then by accident then. Strength has a habit of growing. You're containing it well, but it needs room to expand. Hold it in too long, and it will force its way out. And someone close to you might get hurt." Lycurgus's voice was plying now, almost needling, and yet, awfully low and calm. His tone seemed to cut into the Gaul's mind deeply, twisting inside and making him very confused. Obelix didn't understand. One moment Lycurgus seemed to prize strength above anything else, and the next he was warning him against its dangers. He simply couldn't figure out where the man stood.

"I-Itylus said you were strong," Obelix stuttered. " _You_ haven't hurt anyone."

A stern, sad expression washed over Lycurgus's features. "I am ashamed to say, Obelix, but I have." He looked into the distance, facing the wall, but his gaze searching far further. Far beyond the reach of the village's safety and warmth. "I was once a gladiator in Rome. Captured by Caesar's men as a young boy, I was forced to fight and kill, because I was stronger than most of my people. It was kill or be killed. My strength grew, and I stayed alive. Power is everything, when you live in the Arena. I killed many men. With each one I defeated, I became stronger. And the stronger I became, the more men they had me kill."

Dogmatix gave a high pitched whine and Obelix stumbled back a few more steps, frightened by the gleam in Lycurgus's eyes. "That's...That's terrible!"

Lycurgus smiled dully. "Yes. But those days are behind me. I escaped, along with my daring band of followers, whom I freed. Together, we intend to make a new start. A world without the weak and strong being mixed; the small and defenseless forced to die at the hands of monsters." The stranger ground out the words with more emotion than he had shown thus far. His look was haggard, haunted, and driven. Frighteningly different than the man that had stood before Obelix before. His passion for the subject was obvious. "There will only be the strong. Peace. Peace will reign. My dream is to live like my ancestors, without worry. So strong that no one can make us murder again. No one can make us kill. There are days I remember the faces of those who fell before me, and wish that I had never been given this curse of power and strength. I only hope that your own will not be your own undoing, as it was almost mine."

Obelix felt as though his head were spinning. Was being strong a good thing or a bad thing? He was confused. No, he was more than just confused. He was lost. "I-I would never hurt anyone..." he stammered, his mind tumbling in uncertainty. A small glimpse of clarity shone through and he grabbed a hold of it shakily. "...Never on...purpose. I can control my strength."

"Yes," Lycurgus lowly projected, continuing down the path with a slow deliberate stride. "But for how long? And what will happen if you all at once find you _can't_?" He walked on, ending the conversation. Behind him, Obelix didn't answer, his mind in a twirling, sinking turmoil. He gently clutched Dogmatix close to his chest, the only source of comfort he could find in the suddenly extraordinarily cold atmosphere. He was frightened. Frightened of his doubt. Frightened of his uncertainty. And, for perhaps the first time in his life, frightened of his _strength_.

Ahead of him, face hidden in a stoic mask, Lycurgus allowed himself the smallest of smirks; his mission accomplished.

* * *

 **I am so sorry this took so long! College started up again quite hurriedly. I'm already swamped with homework. This semester I'm taking a Fundamentals of Painting Class (I'm on a school Library Mural committee), an Art History Class, a Fundamentals of Theater Design Class, and a Communications Class. But then I also teach a Bible Study for the Youth Group at my church. So, if you ever find yourself saying, 'Darn it! Why is the next chapter taking her so long to write!', please keep in mind my ridiculous schedule. :)**

 **That being said, also understand that writing these stories mean a LOT to me. It is not a bother to write them, in fact it is how I relax. Never feel bad about bugging me to hurry up. I find it very funny, and it often brings a smile to my face. ;)**


	6. Intentions

Lycurgus was more or less the one leading the way now, and Obelix was slightly surprised when they ended up standing in his quarry. The fresh snow had fallen upon the dozen or so menhirs that resided there, making them look like great pillars of soft, downy white. Like a forest of elongated snowdrifts, they seemed to guard the place like soldiers at full attention. Loyal and steadfast. It was quiet here, away from the activity of the village's square, which was just beginning to team with early morning life. Now that daylight had fully arrived, the daily chores and business of the village would commence. Unhygienix would be selling his fish. Fulliautomatix would be pounding away at his anvil. And the women would be gossiping away on the paths, their children playing nearby. The sun had cleared the village walls, shining down on the snow, making it blindingly bright. Dogmatix squirmed in Obelix's hands, wanting to be released to romp in this familiar place that they both knew and loved so well. But Obelix was all at once reluctant to let him go. He was still confused, as well as somewhat frightened by Lycurgus's words, and wanted Dogmatix's comforting form in his reach.

Blinking, Obelix gazed around the quarry questioningly. Though he had been planning to bring Lycurgus here at some point in their tour, he was surprised, as well as a little unnerved, to find that the traveler knew right where it was and had found it with no trouble at all.

Lycurgus turned to face him, a smile of curiosity playing upon his face. He seemed pleased with himself, as well as Obelix's dumbfounded expression. As though the whole point in coming here was to show his host that he knew where he lived, and how to get there, just for the sake of making Obelix uneasy. "This is where you work, correct?"

Obelix came to a halt abruptly, feet planted deep in the snow. His eyes grew wide, and he looked genuinely startled. "Y-Yes, but...but how did you know that?"

Lycurgus gave a hearty laugh that echoed in the quarry eerily. "Itylus told me," he hummed, placing his muscular arms over his chest in a stance of perfect ease. He looked about the place with a long, searching gaze, before he brought it back to his guide. "Tell me, where do you get your strength?" There was no hesitation in his voice, just a simple question, as though it were an everyday question that one was used to asking every stranger one came upon.

"G-Get it?" Obelix shifted uncomfortably. The suddenness of the question threw him off guard. He wasn't sure why, but Lycurgus made him terribly uncomfortable. He could now understand Asterix's reluctance to trust the man. Obelix all at once wished that he had not accepted the task of showing Lycurgus around the village. It certainly wasn't worth the tense feeling residing within him now.

"Yes," the traveler intoned, seeming slightly annoyed by his lack in understanding. "Surely you weren't born with it." He moved closer, motioning to the sky above them. "Unusual gifts such as yours are usually bestowed by the gods." He focused his eyes back on Obelix's face, which had also turned to look up at the world above. "Or obtained by _magic_."

Obelix blinked, then flinched, abruptly gazing back to earth, coming almost face to face with his guest. He backed up a step, made nervous by the close proximity to him, and gave a hurried response. "No. No, I just am. I've always been like this." It was a lie. He knew it was a lie, and Obelix _never_ lied...But right now he didn't care about that. He had had to. Why he had had to, he wasn't certain, but he had. And he wasn't about to change his answer now. His mind echoed with images of him and Asterix sneaking into Getafix's hut, and him, as a little boy, falling into the Magic Potion. The Magic Potion could not be mentioned, not to outsiders. And, though he couldn't give a reason why, especially not to Lycurgus.

"And what of the others?"

Obelix frowned, becoming protective. "What about them?"

"They do not have the strength you do," Lycurgus pressed. "But they contain a hidden strength. Don't they?" He smiled oddly as a look of fear flashed over Obelix's face, and he added a little more. "Oh, but not all the time. Just, when the fancy takes them. Isn't that correct?"

"Who told you that?!" The large Gaul was horrified, afraid that he might be the source of this information. Asterix had warned him, many times. Hundreds of times. ' _Obelix, be careful what you tell strangers. It could lead to trouble_ '. Well, now it seemed it had, and Obelix couldn't help thinking it was all his fault. His hands shook a little, a sensation that was completely new to him.

"Itylus said that you told him such. You were more open with him, why not me?"

"I-I don't know."

"Then tell me what makes them strong."

"I can't. I'm not supposed to."

Lycurgus stood smiling at Obelix a moment, as though processing his words. He was perfectly still, arms folded firmly over his bare chest. He was the very image of strength and determination. Then, with a small chuckle, he turned back to the menhirs around them. "Very well," he assured, "I won't ask again." He walked up to one of the snow covered pillars, brushing a hand over its frosted surface. "So tell me, how do you go about making a large stone like this?"

Obelix's worried frown disappeared, every bit of their previous conversation disappearing in a warm, gentle smile. If there was one thing Obelix loved talking about, it was the one skill he possessed in carving stone. Setting Dogmatix down in the snow, the largest Gaul explained his craft with great enthusiasm.

* * *

The cool air felt good to Asterix. It woke him up a bit more, which he appreciated. It had been a long night, and he found his focus and energy was greatly depleted by that fact. After getting some food in his growling stomach, he had felt better; stronger and ready to face the day. Wrapping a scarf about his neck, and placing a woolen mitten on both hands, he had bid his friends in Vitalstitistix's hut goodbye, it being time for him to do his morning stroll. He did it for two reasons, the first being that he had always done it. Every morning and noon he walked the perimeter of the village, and, in the summer, the forest nearby. It was to assure himself that everything was as it should be. _Safe_. The other reason he did it was because of how it helped him clear his head. As village warrior, he had a lot on his shoulders. And this morning was no exception. The arrival of Lycurgus and his followers weighed heavily on the blond Gaul, making him uneasy, as did his restless night. And so, he decided that taking his usual walk might help clear his mind and ease his heart. But, to his surprise, Getafix followed him out, making it quite clear that the druid wished to walk with him. Asterix had no problem with that. In fact, he was glad for it. He felt there was a little tension between them since their discussion that morning, and Asterix wished to clear that up as well.

They left the Chieftain's hut and made their way to the gate, so that Asterix could check the great wooden beams that kept it secured, and make sure that no one lurked outside their walls. Asterix had always done it, ever since he had first become village warrior, but the severity and seriousness in which he took it had grown since the incident with Mastix. And Getafix could not blame him for it. He too had felt the need to put up a series of small alarm spells, designed to let the druid know when someone other than a villager entered their home.

The two friends walked in silence, and that silence continued as they arrived at the gate. Asterix gripped the wooden beams with both, gloved hands and gave a firm push and pull. The gate remained solid and unmoving, just as it was supposed to do. Then Asterix turned and ascended the ladder to the right, coming to stand at the top, stiff with attention as he scanned his eyes over the forest line. He stayed like that for several minutes, perfectly still. Getafix watched him from below, a mix of fondness and worry blooming in him. He cared for Asterix a lot, just as he did all the villagers. He had known them since they were children, and, in a way, he knew some of them better than they knew themselves. But Asterix was always a mystery. Just when Getafix though he had seen all there was of the short Gaul's character, something would happen and leave Getafix in awe. Asterix was like an ever changing river. The longer you followed it, the further you traveled down its unknown course. The more you discovered, the more you realized you had far more to understand about him.

Asterix slid down the ladder again, satisfied that all was well outside and around the village. He landed on his feet with a light thump, before resuming his place alongside the druid. Getafix followed him, studying him. As they neared one of the several smaller, hidden gates in the wall, Getafix decided it was time to start a conversation. It was obvious that Asterix wasn't going to start one himself, lost in thought as he was.

"You are very quiet this morning, Asterix," the druid observed, pausing as Asterix tested the first hidden gate. It was a small, wooden structure, one that relied more on its invisibility than its strength. Only one latch kept outsiders from getting in, but they hardly ever had to worry about that. The reputation the Gauls had gained over the years was more than enough to keep away any unwanted company. Or, at least, _most_ unwanted company.

Asterix checked the latch, secretly happy to find that the ice had sealed the door firmly. He reasoned only Obelix would be strong enough to break it, without the effects of the Magic Potion. "Yes. I suppose I am." He said it lowly, as though he really didn't want to mention it, but Getafix persisted.

"Anything you wish to discuss?"

Asterix paused, not looking at his friend, but instead fixing his gaze at the base of the frozen door. He felt like they had gone through this before. Though, it was far more than just Lycurgus now. This had to do with far more, and Asterix knew that. But he didn't want to admit it. Half of him didn't, but the other half wanted help, and soon. He wasn't sure how long he could keep up the act. An act, apparently, that he wasn't doing that good of a job of projecting. "Nothing that hasn't already been said." He winced at his own words, mumbling his next words before he even thought them through. "Except I..."

Getafix raised a bushy eyebrow. "Except? Except what?"

Asterix tucked his hands under his arms, moving on to the next gate, eyes still focused on the ground, and Getafix trailing behind. "No. Never mind, it's nothing."

Getafix looked up sharply, stopping and laying a hand on Asterix's shoulder to halt him as well. He bent over slightly, so they were closer in height. "Asterix," he said in a stern voice, "if there is one thing I know after all my years of knowing you, it is that when there is an 'except' in your mouth, there is most certainly never a 'nothing' to follow." His expression softened. "What is bothering you? Is it what I said earlier? If so, I am truly sorry."

"No," Asterix said quickly, not wanting to cause more tension between them. He would never want that. "No, it's not that...exactly. I just..." Asterix's eyes looked hesitant, and he seemed to shrink in on himself, making him even smaller. His next words were soft, almost whispered. "Getafix, I had a nightmare last night." He was ashamed of that fact. He had tried so hard to go back to normal, not just for his sake, but for the sake of his friends. He knew they worried, and he didn't want them to. He wanted to be the same, independent Asterix he had always been. Not some traumatized warrior that lost sleep over a few bad dreams. But he couldn't seem to help it. And it hurt him. Especially since he knew, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't hide it. The others knew. Getafix knew; Asterix could see in his face right now that he did. But no one, save Obelix, ever asked him. They didn't want to embarrassed him. They didn't want to baby him. Getafix wanted to hear it from Asterix without prompting, and it had been a long wait, but now Asterix was feeling ready to talk.

Getafix nodded slowly, removing his hands slowly from the little Gaul's shoulders and straightening up to his full height. "A nightmare?" He began walking, leading the way to the next gate himself. He knew that this subject wouldn't be easy for Asterix, and moving at a steady pace might help calm his nerves, which were obviously very tense. He was glad to see Asterix follow. "Hmm. I expect it has something to do with our visitors," he began simply. "They're making us all on edge. Most of all you." He sent Asterix a sideways glance, noticing that the Gaul was still gazing at the snow at his feet as he walked. "Your Soul Light is still intact after our last..." He struggled for the right word. "Adventure. But that doesn't mean it wasn't...bruised."

Asterix looked up at him in confusion, his logical thinking the druid knew so well kicking into full gear. "Bruised? Getafix, how can something that I can't feel or see be _bruised_?"

Getafix chuckled, before stopping by the second gate. Asterix came to a halt as well, but was now too engaged to focus on the task at hand. "But you can feel it, can't you?" the druid asked, pointing to Asterix's chest, still not entirely sure where his Inner Light was located. "I've been doing a fair amount of studies on Solas Anam since five months ago, based off of the books the Venerable Druid sent me. Come now, Asterix, how does it feel within you now as opposed to before?"

Asterix was silent a moment. He still had a hard time believing that he was different than his fellow Gauls. Not different in anything normal, other than some sort of gift or power that he possessed. They had all witnessed the extent of that power, but that had been under unusual circumstances. On an average, normal day, it really only provided Asterix with a strong sense of intuition. A sixth scent, one might say. Asterix could feel it though, as Getafix said. It was like a warm settlement within him, that he knew he would miss were it ever to leave him. He had almost lost it before, and had almost died as a result. But now he knew where it was, at least relatively so. And he could feel its condition. It was always easier to feel something when it was sore.

Asterix sighed. "...Bruised."

Getafix nodded approvingly. "Precisely. Just as one can have physical scars or mental scars, a person can experience a sort of, I guess you could call it, a _soul_ scar. It's closely related to one's mind, but more connected to one's personality."

"Great."

Getafix chuckled again; a soft, reassuring sound. He moved forward, checking the second gate himself and finding it frozen shut like the first. "Don't worry, it isn't permanent. Like all scars, they fade."

"But never truly go away," the short Gaul mumbled miserably. His tone caused the druid's spirit to sink a little, but continued before Getafix could comment. "But Getafix, I feel something will happen. Something bad. And now...Now I can't even trust my own feelings? What if we've made a terrible mistake? Or what if I'm the one making all the mistakes? Or what if it's all just in my head." The last part was more of a frustrated statement than a question, and muttered under a tight breath of air. Asterix was truly worried, and terribly confused. It was like being lost in some dense forest, with no stars to guide by. No way to find out where one stood, or in what direction one needed to go. Asterix hated it, and he didn't hate very many things. Sometimes he wasn't sure whether being a Solas Anam was a gift or a curse.

Getafix, on the other hand, seemed more sure of his path at the moment. "Good. Those are the questions you _should_ be asking." He flinched at the look of helpless frustration that the Gaul gave him. "I know it's confusing, and a little painful, but some healing is like that. That is what I was trying to say earlier. I am not saying we should trust Lycurgus, he _is_ a dreadful fellow, and I will be _relieved_ the day he and his followers exit through our gates. But we cannot condemn them based on a feeling. Just as we could not have banished Mastix from our gates based on a feeling."

Asterix shook his head, stubbornly. "But that was different."

"Was it?"

Asterix thought back to that dreadful day. Mastix, disguised as a harmless, old woman, had met up with him and Obelix in the woods, saying that 'she' needed shelter. Being hospitable, despite feelings he had not yet been able to explain, Asterix had brought the 'old woman' back to the village. From then on his bad feelings had grown. But it had been irrelevant then. If he had spoken up, who would have believed that the visitor was a threat? What would they have done, thrown the 'old woman' out into the dark of night? Of course not. Sometimes things couldn't be said, especially when they were based off of something that had no reason or proof behind it. It wasn't until Mastix had attacked, and revealed himself as an enemy, that those feelings even became useful. All in all, Getafix was right. Again Asterix let out a sigh. "No. No, I suppose it wasn't."

The druid gave his shoulder a pat of encouragement. "Keep searching your Soul Light, Asterix. It will all become clear to you eventually. Things will go back to normal."

"Do you really think so, Getafix?" He looked up into the druid's face, looking all the world like a hopeful child.

Getafix had his doubts, but he firmly pushed them aside. He would not answer a growing hope with a dowsing fear. He smiled, tilting Asterix's helmet forward so that the Gaul had to push it back to see. "Yes. Yes, I do."

Asterix laughed, readjusting his helm. His eyes had lost the darkness that had been there all morning, finally shining bright like they usually did. "Then that's good enough for me," he beamed.

"Good," Getafix grinned, moving onward through the snow, white collecting on his shoes and tunic. "Now, let's go finish up your rounds so that we can go find Obelix and our guest."

It didn't take very long after that to check the gates, now that they had gotten all their thoughts and problems out in the open. Asterix, for one, felt much better, and was actually able to enjoy the sunny day that had blossomed around them. Even though each gate was found to be frozen solid, Asterix still checked, not wanting carelessness to cause a problem later on. They finished the task fairly quickly, coming upon Obelix's hut shortly after. Finding that their friend was not inside, Asterix suggested heading out to the quarry, seeing as Obelix would probably want to show off his craftsmanship. His assumption proved correct as they rounded the cottage and were immediately greeted by a happily yipping Dogmatix. He disappeared into the deep drifts of snow with every leap he took, barking in joy. He finally made it to Asterix and the Gaul lifted him up, receiving a lick on the nose as payment.

"Hello, Dogmatix!" the Gaul chuckled in greeting, feeling the cold air brush against the now wet spot on his face. He tucked the pup between his mittened hands, hoping to supply some warmth that the dog could momentarily enjoy. It was a crisp morning, but, again, the sun seemed to warm the air slightly, making it seem much more pleasant.

Walking forward and down into the quarry, Asterix and Getafix soon spied their friend and their guest. Asterix felt a sense of relief wash over him at the sight, only just now realizing how worried he had been.

Getafix led the way, coming to stop beside the two men. "Hello there, Obelix. Lycurgus."

Lycurgus gave the slightest of bows, a sign of respect, as was due any druid. Any _good_ druid. He was all smiles, having obviously enjoyed his tour, becoming slightly more animated than before, but without losing his grace and solidity. "Greetings, Druid. Your friend here was just showing me around the comforts of his quarry. He's a man of many talents." His tone was approving, but Asterix thought he saw Obelix flinch slightly.

"That's Obelix for you," the shortest Gaul replied fondly, before adding teasingly to his friend, "Hamming it up, eh?"

Obelix seemed strangely agitated, giving a nervous shrug rather than the playful comeback Asterix had been expecting. "He wanted to see how I get my work done."

"A very unique trade, I will admit," the traveler continued. "Interesting objects, these menhirs. One would think that one could only sell one every so often. Seeing as it takes them so long to ware down. Which, by the way, leads me to ask, what are they for?"

Obelix blinked, seeming to react to the question more strongly than normal. He had been questioned by Lycurgus so intensely, and so uncomfortably, that now any question, harmless or no, that came from the visitor's mouth felt like a needle in his chest. "F-For?"

"Yes, what purpose do they serve?" Lycurgus's eyes glinted in some strange form of merriment. He could see Obelix's distress, which neither Asterix nor Getafix seemed to sense.

Obelix swallowed. "I suppose they serve whatever purpose one wants. They've got tons of uses, to be sure." Just what, he didn't know. No one had ever told them they were useless. And, after years of selling them, he kept having customers, so they must be used for something. He had never really given it much thought. He had learned the trade from his father, no questions asked. Wasn't that what one was supposed to do? Learn from an elder and carry on the work?

Lycurgus's continence became slightly less approving. "Indeed."

Asterix looked between the two, a feeling of uneasiness rising within him. But it was weak, not the strong urge that he got when danger lurked, so he ignored it. He faced their visitor. "If you're done with your tour of our village, Lycurgus, many of your followers have gathered in Vitalstitistix's hut. Nearly all of them are looking to speak with you, and they're a bit short on patience." And that was putting it mildly.

Lycurgus barely gave Asterix a glance. In fact, had the news not actually been of any value to him, he might not have answered at all. "I will speak with them," was the stiff reply. He began to stride in that direction, without so much as a parting sentence. The two Gauls and their druid watched curiously, not used to such behavior. Everyone they had ever met, good or bad, always said something before leaving a conversation. Lycurgus, it would seem, was the exception to that rule.

Asterix felt he should at least offer his assistance. Cupping his hands to his mouth he called to the man, who was now nearly to Obelix's hut. "Need any help finding your way back?!" There was no response, and a moment later Lycurgus was out of sight. Asterix shrugged. "...I guess not."

* * *

"One more day among these weaklings and I shall put them all out of their misery!"

One of Lycurgus's men flinched at the volume of his companion's voice. "Shhh, not so loud, they'll hear."

The first who had spoken rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut up! They're all gone. We're _alone_. They've all gone to do business elsewhere. Annoying little things." He spat out his sentences aggressively, lounging back against the wall of Vitalstitistix's hut. One man beside him, sipping at a glass of beer given him by the Gaulish Chieftain's wife, gave an arrogant huff.

"Huh. Well, at least you didn't have to sleep in the tree cottage with their so-called bard."

"What of him?"

He sneered. "Fool's gone and caught a cold." His voice held no pity. "Coughed nearly all night long. I couldn't barely catch any sleep." He smirked cruelly, a sparkle in his eyes. "I even considered throwing him from the platform!"

"Yeah?" another traveler growled, chewing a piece of bread with his mouth open, teeth bared in annoyance. "Well, the Misses of the blacksmith snores something terrible! I tell you, boys, we need to get out of this place! It's getting to me!" He grabbed the beer of the man beside him and took a noisy slurp.

"You'll do no such thing."

Beer shot out of the man's mouth as he nearly choked. All eyes jumped to the entryway, where a tall figure, large and imposing, stood in solid shadow. The man who had spoken last stuttered over his words, knowing that he had displeased their leader. And doing that was no small thing. Nor was it particularly safe. "L-Lycurgus! O Great One, we didn't hear you come in!" He wiped beer from his short, well-groomed beard, as though trying to erase his offence from his lips.

Lycurgus stepped into the hut fully, shutting the door with a firm slam. His eyes were fierce, focused on the man as though to bore into his very soul. "Obviously, or you wouldn't be talking betrayal behind my back."

The man's face turned ashen. "B-Betrayal?"

Their leader walked slowly in among them. No one moved. "What are you? Weak?" His voice was sickeningly sweet. "Can't handle a few, measly Gauls?"

"No, sir, we just-"

"Idiots!" He grabbed the mug of beer and threw it aside, making his men jump. "Don't you see? We have hit upon our place. Our _Lacedaemon_. We have searched too long for it, and I will _not_ allow your cowardice to strip me of it now!" His eyes flitted from one face to another, daring one to speak at the risk of his wrath. One fellow, less intimidated than the rest, scowled in his direction.

"There is nothing here of value," he insisted, still lounging carelessly, instead of at tense attention like the rest of his colleagues. "All we see is snow, ice, huts, and men who are so weak that the very wind could take them out!"

Lycurgus turned on him slowly, his eyes calculating. This was Achates, a newer member of their group. He had yet to see what his master was capable of. "Did Itylus not spread word of his discovery?" Lycurgus demanded, sending his Right Hand a look that implied he would be in trouble if he had not done as he was instructed.

"Of the Gaul's hidden strength?" Achates inquired haughtily. "Yes, he told us of it."

"And you do not believe?"

The man shrugged, a rugged smile spreading across his face. "We need a little more convincing." He barely had time to blink before he found himself slammed up against the wall, the air knocked from his lungs and a strong hand on his throat restricting his breathing.

"If it would not ruin our plans I would kill you where you stand, Achates," Lycurgus growled, low and dangerous. He tightened his grip. "Your watered-down blood would stain this floor and you would never gain any honor from battle again. You are weak!" He released the man, allowing him to breath once more. Achates sunk to the base of the wall, gasping and rubbing his throat ruefully as his leader continued. "This place is touched by magic. I can feel it. It was meant for us to come here; the gods are for us. All we need do is take it for ourselves. To throw away our doubts and weakening fears. We will take this home as our own!"

"Which should be easy," Itylus spoke up, glad that he had not been the recipient of his lord's anger. "With a village full of men of so little power, we should win without hardly a fight."

Lycurgus gave a deep chuckle, all rage now gone from him. He shook his head at his men's ignorance. "They _do_ have power, but we shall catch them unaware. It should be simple, as you say. Which leaves only one problem to be solved."

"And what is that, My Lord?"

"The man called Obelix." Lycurgus rubbed his chin, thoughtfully. "His strength could stop our plan mid-stride."

Achates stood back to his feet, his attitude now corrected. "He will not side with us?"

Lycurgus frowned. "He will not."

"Do we kill him?" another asked, a smile playing upon his lips. Had he had his blade, he might have licked it with glee.

"There will be no senseless killing!" Lycurgus gave them all a warning glare, indicating that disobedience on this subject would be rewarded with horrific consequences. "We left the days of death and murder behind us. We are free; there's no more need of it. Killing would be fruitless. Not only do I believe it to be virtually impossible in this Gaul's case, but it would only hurt our cause. If the Gauls were to find his dead body, they would become suspicious. That small one, Asterix, already is, I can see it in his eyes. No. We must simply get rid of him in a different manner."

Itylus exchanged looks with the other men. "How?"

"I have already planted seeds of doubt in his mind. All he requires is one final blow, and I believe he will leave of his own accord." Lycurgus nodded, knowing that what he spoke was true. Obelix was very gullible, almost like a child. He had been easily manipulated into believing Lycurgus's words, and a few more should do the trick. All he had to do was play on the man's weakness. And Obelix's greatest weakness was his friends. One friend in particular.

"But where will he go that we can be certain he will not return?"

It was a good question. Obelix might be easy to convince to leave, but that certainly didn't mean he would stay out. He would return, and Lycurgus, reluctant as he was to admit it, knew that his men would never be able to stand against the Gaul's legendary strength. If Obelix got the notion, he could have run them out of the village long ago by the seats of their tunics.

Lycurgus would not allow any man to stand in his way.

An idea came to Itylus. "Why not send him to Abbadōn in Burdigala. She will take care of him." His smile was uneasy, nervous even. He had come to know Obelix somewhat, and would never have agreed to outright killing him. The Gaul wasn't so bad, really. Just like a very large man with a very young mind. This way, Obelix might have a chance. And, if he didn't make it, Itylus would never know.

Lycurgus smiled, clapping his Right Hand on the back. "Indeed. It will be as you say. Tomorrow, Itylus, you must convince the Gaul, Obelix, to go into the woods."

Itylus tried to hide his disappointment. He did not want to be the one to deceive the fellow. But he knew enough than to argue. "Should I accompany him?"

"No. But his friend, Asterix, must." Their leader smiled knowingly. "Yes. I believe that short fellow will serve some purpose after all. Can you do it?"

"I can, My Lord."

Lycurgus nodded. "Than do so. Tonight, convince his mind of the need. Meet me on the fringe of the forest after he leaves in the morning."

"It will be as you say, My Lord."

And with that, the assembly parted, their plans laid for later that night and early next morning. No killing would be necessary. Lycurgus had forbidden it. He did not want to continue in the ways of his past. These Gauls were weak, and he would deal with them accordingly, harshly if necessary, but peacefully if possible. Peace was his way. Conquer to bring peace. He simply had to remove the obstacles that he knew would not bend to his will.

Then there would be nothing to stop him.

* * *

 **Oh dear, Lycurgus has turned out to be just what Asterix feared he might. At least he doesn't want to murder, so he can't be all evil. But wrong is wrong, whether by evil or by a confused mind. He should leave the Gauls as they are.**

 **But what do you bet he won't? ;)**


	7. The Hunt

Obelix tossed and turned in his sleep, which wasn't easy to do for a man of his girth. The bed frame creaked and groaned beneath his weight, protesting to his increasingly restless movement. He was still awake, and no manner of closing his eyes, breathing deeply, or counting menhirs seemed to help. His mind was going in loops, refusing to let up no matter how he begged himself.

Lycurgus's words had hit him harder than he would have ever admitted. All his life he had never considered himself in relation to those around him. He knew he was strong, and he knew the others, under normal circumstances, were not. Those were simply the facts, and he had never questioned them. Not since he was a little boy, and had first gotten his strength. He remembered a few times when he, in a moment of excitement, had accidentally caused a problem. He had gotten into a fight at school, which, for Gauls was no big deal, over someone taking his mathematics tablet once. Who had taken it, he still wasn't sure to that day, but he had been very upset about it. He had accused Fulliautomatix of the deed, which had angered the blacksmith's son greatly. Fulliautomatix had declared he didn't know where the tablet was, and that Obelix should move his fat self and find it himself. It was the first time anyone had called him fat, and it had hit him hard. He had immediately returned the favor. He had snatched Fulliautomatix's own tablet and slammed it over the other boy's head. He hadn't meant to do it hard, but for some reason the force was far greater than he had intended. The tablet had cracked in half, right on top of the older boy's head, leaving Obelix surprised and Fulliautomatix with a tremendous headache that lasted for days. Getafix had been livid, as had Obelix's parents. They said that, thankfully, Fulliautomatix was a very strong boy, and, somehow, had not been hurt more than just a lump on the head. But the fact remained that Fulliautomatix could have been badly hurt, and it had scared Obelix then.

Fulliautomatix had never called him fat after that, and, in fact, now stood as one of the number who tried to stop others from making the same mistake. He and Obelix had long since made up, and they continued to be very close friends. Though, never as close as Obelix was to Asterix. That thought only increased Obelix's anxiety. His mind once again brought up the time he had gotten mad and hit Asterix in a fit of rage. To him, it had been nothing but a normal belt in the face, but to Asterix...Asterix wasn't the same after that for a good few hours. He had literally been knocked silly, and it had left Obelix with a cold, sickly feeling. He tried to watch his temper. Luckily, whenever he did lose it, his fellow villagers were the recipients of his wrath. They could handle it, seeing as, after years of drinking Magic Potion, some residual effects always seemed to linger in their systems. It prevented Obelix's anger from inflicting too much damage.

But Lycurgus was right. Great danger did come with great power. Obelix couldn't deny that. But could that ever corrupt him, as the traveler had said? He didn't feel corrupted. No one had ever said that he was corrupted. As far as he knew, he was just plain, old Obelix. A menhir deliverer, and a Gaul. Oh, how much easier that made everything sound! But it didn't change the fact that he _was_ different. He had always liked it that way. He knew he was strong, and he had always enjoyed it. Sometimes he even forgot about how extraordinary it was, until someone was looking at him, mouth agape, whenever he did something impressive in their eyes. Then he would blush, and explain, in so many words, that he had fallen into the Magic Potion when he was a little boy. It was his explanation for it, and it worked well. But he couldn't say that now, no matter how much he wanted to. His excuse was robbed from him, and he felt oddly bare without it.

 _"Would you ever hurt Asterix again on purpose?"_

 _"Of course not!"_

 _"Ah, but someday you might."_

 _"Never!"_

 _"Then by accident then. Strength has a habit of growing. You're containing it well, but it needs room to expand. Hold it in too long, and it will force its way out. And someone close to you might get hurt."_

Obelix shivered as he remembered his conversation with Lycurgus. He wanted to laugh, and tell himself it was all a bunch of nonsense. But he couldn't. The traveler's words had reawakened an old fear that Obelix had forgotten for so long, he hadn't realized it still existed. What if something did happen? What if someone did get hurt? Really hurt? Not just a bump or a bruise, but a real, truly _terrible_ hurt. At _his_ hands. Obelix didn't think he could take that. He _knew_ he couldn't. Each and every villager he knew was as close as family. And there were those who were closer still. To hurt one of them, in any way, would be enough to hurtle him into despair. He was close enough to it just thinking about it.

Obelix let out a soft moan, now lying on his back and staring up at the rafters of his ceiling. The wood above him was beginning to lighten with the first rays of the rising sun. It was nearly morning, and he hadn't slept at all. His eyes felt blurry, after hours of staring into nothing but darkness. It had given him a headache, and he gave another groan, this time of annoyance. He was so tired. So tired, and yet completely unable to sleep. And all because of that traveler.

The large Gaul had not told a soul about the conversation he had had with Lycurgus. He hadn't even told Asterix, which was unusual for him. He and Asterix shared everything. The only other person Obelix felt comfortable turning to was Getafix, and he hadn't done that either. He felt confused. Confused and exhausted. He wanted to think about these things more before he brought them up. Asterix and Getafix had enough troubles of their own without having to deal with his.

It wasn't long before the sun had fully risen above the gate line, shining in through Obelix's window with every ounce of glory it could muster. The snow was melting a little today, icicles hanging in his window dripping slowly. The sky was a brilliant blue, contrasting beautifully with the white, crystalline snow below it.

But Obelix didn't pay it any notice.

He got up from his bed, got dressed, and shaved, more out of habit than anything else. Slowly, massaging his temple where the headache was most concentrated, the large Gaul descended the ladder and made his way out of the loft to the ground floor below. Obelix wasn't surprised at all to find Itylus already up and dressed.

The healthily built young man turned from making his bed, taking in Obelix's appearance with a critical eye. "You look awful," he observed. "Did you sleep?"

Obelix shook his head sadly. "No," was his only answer. He moved to sit at the table, wood creaking beneath him as he settled, still rubbing his forehead in misery.

Itylus felt a twinge of sympathy bloom in his chest like a flame, but he quickly smothered it out. He had a mission to perform, and having feelings of sentiment for this Gaul would only make things harder. Lycurgus had given him his orders. To disobey would have consequences worse than death. He had already waited longer than he should have. Lycurgus had told him to convince Obelix to go into the forest the night before, but Itylus had waited until morning. He hoped to all the gods that his leader would never find out. Itylus gave a nod of fake understanding, moving to sit across from the larger man, all the while pretending to be uncomfortable. Which wasn't much of an act. He really did feel uncomfortable deceiving Obelix in this manner. He had grown rather fond of him, despite his many annoying habits and extreme lack of table manners. But what had to be done, had to be done. For the good of his people.

"Obelix," Itylus began, slowly at first, but building speed as he went. "Why don't you go on one of those boar hunts in the forest that you're always talking about? It will do you good. Plus, after all you've said, I think I'd like to try boar. It sounds ambrosial." He licked his lips in an imitation of how Obelix had reacted at the mention of boar the day before. Obelix looked up at him, seeming to consider his suggestion sincerely. In an effort to finish his job, the man added, "And you could go spend some time with that friend of yours; the warrior."

"Asterix."

"Yes," Itylus persuaded. "You could go out together and have some fun. Don't worry about me, I'll entertain myself. It would do him good as well. He hasn't been looking all that well." That, in part, was actually true. Asterix had seemed unsteady of late. Itylus could see it, and he had only known the man since a few days prior.

Obelix seemed to be slightly more convinced by this, his headache lightening a little. "It would be nice to get back into the habit. And it would do Asterix good." It had only been a few days since he and Asterix had gone hunting, having been too preoccupied with the visitors to do so after their arrival. Obelix's stomach gave a loud, insistent gurgle. Obelix patted it to sooth it. "Well, I do like a good boar for breakfast. Or two. And I do miss the hunting." He also hoped it would get his mind off of his troubles. "I think that's a good idea, Itylus! Thank you!" With that Obelix rose from his seat, scooping up Dogmatix in the process. Without further adieu, the large Gaul headed out the door, now fully excited, leaving his guest alone.

Itylus shivered slightly at the Gaul's grateful words, and wished one more time that he didn't have to do this.

* * *

"For Toutatis sake, Cacofonix, will you cover your mouth when you cough!"

Getafix stepped back as the bard let loose another round of harsh, dry coughs. He sent the druid an apologetic look, trying to calm the fit so he could answer. It was easier said than done. His cough had worsened considerably within the last two nights, accompanying his cold which had started a week ago. Last night had been so bad that Unhygienix, whose hut lay right below Cacofonix's own, had yelled up to his cottage window insisting that the bard go to see Getafix about the cough, if not for his own health then for the sake of everyone else. He hadn't wanted to go, but his chest had started hurting from the strain of one coughing fit after another. And his guest was very intolerant of his plight. So, very early that morning, he had left to see the druid. Finally, Cacofonix managed to stifle the coughs and gasped out an apology. "S-Sorry, Geta -' _cough_ '- fix."

The druid's frown softened. "It's alright. I just don't want to catch it. Here." He handed the bard a small cup of something red. It looked sort of like wine, but it smelled like some of Unhygienix's wares. Getafix saw his patient's hesitation. "Come now, drink it up. It will help with the coughing." Cacofonix still looked unsure. "Or would you rather go on like this?" The bard downed the liquid at once, causing Getafix to smile knowingly. The potion was an old one, but it would do. Cacofonix looked like he sorely needed the help, having not slept a wink all night. Getafix was sure he'd hear his share of complaints later that day from the others.

Cacofonix shuddered at the potion's taste. "Oh, that's terrible!"

Getafix nodded, taking back the empty cup. "Most things that taste bad are good for you. It's those that taste best that you should be wary." He turned to the second guest in his cottage. Asterix had come early that morning too, saying that he couldn't sleep. Getafix had rolled his eyes. There was nothing quite so taxing as a village full of insomnia inclined Gauls. But he had let them stay, not being particularly tired himself. He didn't need as much sleep as they did normally anyway. He had always been one to stay up late and wake at the crack of dawn. "Asterix, would you mind going up into my storage upstairs and bringing down a few blankets? It's been rather cold of late in here. You might have to dig around a bit."

Asterix pushed himself up from the druid's table and climbed the ladder, disappearing into Getafix's cluttered version of an attic without a word of protest. Cacofonix cocked his head, glad to feel the effects of the potion already working within him. "What do you need blankets for?" It certainly _wasn't_ cold in Getafix's hut. In fact, if the bard was truthful, it was a little warmer than he liked.

Getafix smiled. "To keep Asterix busy while we take a look at your arm."

"My arm?"

"Yes. It's been a while since we've taken a look, and I want to make sure it's healed properly." Getafix pulled over a stool, setting it beside the bard expectantly. He didn't have to explain why he wanted Asterix out of the room while he performed his task. They both knew how guilty Asterix still felt over Cacofonix's injuries. Getafix didn't want to rub salt in the wound by letting Asterix see the full extent of those injuries, better though they may be. He had never let Asterix see them, afraid that doing so might be too much for him.

Cacofonix nodded uncomfortably, rolling up the sleeve of blue and white-checkered tunic. He still didn't like being looked over, as though everyone thought he was a thin, frail little man. Which he was. But that was beside the point. Since his fall from his tree hut platform, Getafix had insisted on making sure everything healed properly. While he was glad that the others didn't treat him too differently, he couldn't help but notice their anxious gazes whenever he ascended the stairs of his tree. He knew they were afraid he would fall, and he supposed he couldn't really blame him. But the funny thing was that he himself was unaffected by it. He could travel up and down those steps just as well as he had ever been able to, and still held no fear of heights whatsoever. Though he couldn't say the same for his friends. Though Cacofonix couldn't really remember his fall very well. It was foggy, fragmented. Maybe that was partially why it hadn't affected him too badly. He couldn't be afraid of something he could barely remember. But he did remember that Fulliautomatix and Unhygienix had been there. And he had seen how it had affected them. Neither one hardly ever came up to his hut, unless for a very good reason. They tended to keep clear of the tree altogether, and often asked how he was going, eyes always falling to his shoulder and arm. While they still found his musical talent lacking, and still picked on him like before, Cacofonix found there was something different about it. A slightly gentler quality. Though, only slightly.

Getafix took the bard's arm in his careful hold, apologizing when Cacofonix flinched from the touch of his cold hands. Gently, he inspected the area just below the bard's elbow, where only five months prior there had been a terrible break in the bone. It had taken a long time to heal, even with Getafix's various herbs and potions, most of which were more to ease Cacofonix's pain than to heal at a faster rate. Bones were tricky things to treat when it came to magic, and, though Getafix would have loved to have healed the bard at once, he ended up letting it heal at its own pace. Bones were not meant to be healed at the drop of a feather. Some things were better left to their own devices. A little Magic Potion, though, hadn't hurt.

"Hmm," the druid hummed, running his thumb over the fading bruises that still existed beneath the surface of the bard's pale skin. "Does it still hurt at all?"

Cacofonix shook his head. "No, and it hasn't for three or so weeks. Getafix, my arm healed a good two months ago. Surely it must be fine now."

Getafix sighed, motioning the bard to roll his sleeve back down. "I believe that as well, but I will not make a mistake in judgement. It was Mastix who did this to you, and I will not underestimate him again."

Cacofonix looked concerned. "Getafix, Mastix is dead."

"And thank Toutatis for that!" He motioned for the bard to loosen the collar of his tunic. Cacofonix rolled his eyes, but complied, knowing what the druid wanted to check next. "But...But I want to be certain. Certain that he didn't do more damage than we're seeing."

Cacofonix stilled, watching Getafix's face silently as the druid inspected the nasty scar on his shoulder. It had been a puncture wound, made from falling onto the rough surface of Unhygienix's roof. Cacofonix, thankfully, couldn't even remember it. He hadn't been conscious to see the injury after he had gained it, and had only looked at it days after, when it had begun to heal. But, even then, it had turned his stomach. The scar, Getafix had informed him, would fade with the right potions. But even then, it would take time.

Getafix, not meeting the bard's gaze, nodded in satisfaction. "This seems alright. Still sore, is it?"

The younger Gaul couldn't lie. "A little." He paused, continuing to study Getafix carefully. "You feel responsible for this, don't you?" When Getafix refused to answer, the bard knew it was true. No wonder the druid always insisted on looking his injuries over, despite the fact that they had very nearly healed completely. Getafix felt responsible for his injuries. How, Cacofonix didn't know. Getafix had been Mastix's colleague at one time; perhaps he thought that that somehow made him accountable for the evil druid's actions. Which was ridiculous. Mastix alone was to blame for this. For everything that had happened. And Getafix really had tried his best. He had _done_ his best. "Maybe we should have sent you _and_ Asterix to fetch the blankets," the bard joked, trying to lighten the atmosphere a bit.

Getafix stared at him a moment, before his face gained its usual smile. "Cacofonix, sometimes I don't know what to do about you. You've come a long way from that shy little boy who would stay after class to learn music from his old, weathered teacher."

Cacofonix made a face. "Which you all regret now, for some reason." His frown didn't carry much weight however, and his smile shone through it.

Getafix shook his head with a grin. "You'll never know how much."

Just then, Asterix returned, an armload of blankets almost obscuring him from view. "They were hard to find all right," he declared, plopping them down on the cot in the corner. He dusted himself off, relieving his clothes of the dust and cobwebs he had collected in his search. "Is this enough, Getafix?"

The druid exchanged a knowing look with Cacofonix, before nodding. "Yes, I believe that was just the right amount." He smiled and was glad to see Asterix return it.

"Asterix!"

The three within the druid's cottage flinched as the door suddenly slammed open, a very excited looking Obelix rushing through and into the warm room, letting in a blast of cold air that was very unpleasant. Obelix's face looked rather panicked, turning into a broad smile the moment he spotted his friend. "I couldn't find you in your cottage," he explained to Asterix simply. "I was hoping you'd be here." Asterix often hung around Getafix's hut; always had, but now more than ever. Getafix had done a lot for the village during Mastix's attacks, and even more so for the village's warrior. Asterix had seen a new side of their druid, learning about his history in the Carnutes, and the troubles that he had tried to escape. It somehow made Getafix more approachable. More human. Druids were typically seen as distant, magical, and powerful figures, who devoted their lives to discovery and healing. Getafix, however, had broken that appearance just in his wanting to live with the Gauls. He had given up so much, or so other druids claimed, but Getafix seemed perfectly content where he was.

Asterix gave a chuckle at his friend's somewhat wild appearance. Snow had gathered in his hair and mustache, clinging to the metal of his helmet, which was frosted over with the tiny flakes. He still held that slightly sleepy look, implying that he had just gotten up. Asterix frowned, realizing it was more than that. Looking closer he noticed the dark circles under Obelix's eyes, and the way his broad shoulders seemed to hang downward loosely. He looked rather tired. He looked _very_ tired.

"Asterix, want to go boar hunting?"

But not too tired to get a good breakfast.

Asterix looked to Getafix and Cacofonix, before turning his eyes back to Obelix. "Why now? It's early yet." He saw Obelix's disappointment and instantly felt guilty. So it was early, what did that matter? "Then again, it would be nice to get a little fresh air and exercise." He smiled. "Alright Obelix. Let's go."

Obelix beamed with joy, handing Dogmatix over to Getafix. "Would you keep an eye on him, Getafix. The snow's too deep for him to come along. He'll get lost."

Getafix chuckled as he took the pup in hand, the little creature licking his cheek. "It wouldn't be any trouble at all. Dogmatix is always very well behaved." He smirked when Obelix gave his pet a stern glance, as though to say that wasn't always true, and that Dogmatix had _better_ behave. "He'll help me with a bit of tidying up. These potions are quite out of place, and the dust has settled more than I like. You'll help me, won't you, Dogmatix?"

The pup wagged his tail, yipping excitedly as the druid placed him back on the floor.

"Alright," Asterix said, pulling on his mittens and wrapping on his scarf. "We shouldn't be too long gone. It's cold, and though Obelix might not be bothered by it, I am. We'll find a boar or two-"

"Or three," Obelix interrupted quickly.

"- or three-"

"Or four."

"Obelix." Asterix gave his friend a mockingly stern glare. He turned back to Getafix. " _However_ many boars we get, we shouldn't be gone too long." It was always important during the winter to give some idea of a time frame in which one thought they would be gone. The frigid cold of Gaul in winter may be beautiful, but it could also be very dangerous. If someone in the village kept track of how long someone was out, it made it easier, and more likely, to be found should something go wrong. It was a policy they observed any other time of the year, but more so in winter months. Freezing to death was far more possible if one got lost in winter than any other time.

With a final goodbye, Asterix and Obelix made there way out the door, closing it behind them firmly.

* * *

"There's one!"

Like a shot, Obelix took off through the snow, his windmilling feet sending a wave of cold precipitation raining down on Asterix, nearly burying him. The boar they had spotted stood still in shock for a moment, a look of definite horror plastered on its face, before it scrambled off further into the woods at an alarming speed, Obelix close on its heels. After a moment of struggling, Asterix managed to free himself from the snow. Taking a quick swig of Magic Potion, he felt its energy coursing through him, filling the area around him with a brilliant burst of golden light before fading. He always found it interesting how each of the villagers gave off various glows whenever they drank their druid's potion. For some, such a Fulliautomatix, it was red, for several it was purple or blue, and for others still it was white. And then a few, very few, gave off gold. Asterix was one of them. But his was always far brighter than anyone else's, and they all attributed it to the fact that Asterix was a Solas Anam.

Filled with the warmth and power he knew so well, Asterix took off, going from a standstill to a blur in seconds. He followed the trail of kicked up powder from his friend's wild rush, leaving a trail much the same himself. Obelix was fast, considering his weight and size, but the permanent effect of the Magic Potion in his body made him a mere streak of white and blue, running through the forest without a care, laughing and generally having a good time. All thoughts of his conversation with Lycurgus had melted away, taking his exhaustion and worry away with it. Things were just as they had been; happy and normal. He raced along, the boar nearly in his grasp. All at once, Asterix was beside him, smiling teasingly as he matched Obelix's speed. Obelix was fast, true; but, when under the power of the Magic Potion, Asterix was just a little bit faster. Obelix gave a deep chuckle, adding a little more speed, getting a few paces ahead, only for Asterix to do the same. It was a running joke with them; a game. A tradition. Ever since their fathers had brought them on their first boar hunt together, the two had struggled to be the one to catch the meal. Sometimes Obelix would win, using his endurance; the fact that he never tired of running, unless he was too overcome by hunger. And sometimes Asterix won, usually through his wits. They had given up keeping score long ago, now content with the thrill of the race more than anything else. It was all done in fun, no matter how competitive it might have seemed to any outsider.

Both laughing, invigorated by the rush and the wind in their faces, the two Gauls raced through the snow, enjoying their time together after both having suffered a sleepless night.

But little did they know that they were not alone in the forest.

Walking sturdily through the fresh, powdered snow some distance to the Gauls' right, Lycurgus trudged forward, accompanied by both Itylus and Achates. While the two men did their best not to shiver from cold, their leader, firm and steadfast as always, seemed virtually unaffected by the frigid air. He stormed ahead, eyes scanning the wooded landscape with serious intent. His stride was certain, and purposeful. All the while he kept his ears listening for any sounds, of those they sought, or any who might have happened to follow.

"My Lord," Achates whispered, too nervous to speak any louder at the risk of gaining his leader's wrath. He was already in Lycurgus's disfavor, and now that he knew how dangerous the man truly was, he wanted to do all he could to amend his mistake. "We have seen neither hide nor hair of these Gauls. Are we certain that they are here?" Lycurgus responded lowly, without even looking over his shoulder at his inquirer.

"They are here."

There was a brief silence, before Itylus got up the nerves to ask his own question. "What is it we plan to do when we find them, My Lord? You yourself said that we, even as a group, could not take down Obelix the Gaul. Why then go out to meet them in combat?"

Lycurgus came to a halt, turning to look at his men. "We go not to give battle."

Itylus exchanged a glance with Achates. "Then, with all due respect, My Lord, what are we doing out here?" It hadn't been an easy task in getting out of the village. They had had to take the long way around, out through the back of the village, facing the sea. All without being seen. They had had to wade through the frosty waves of the waters, just to reach the fringe of the forest, which they had now entered fully.

Lycurgus smiled, that grin that always meant he pitied the weakened minds of those beneath him. "I will explain it, only so that you will not make a mistake. Our objective is to remain unseen. We must find Obelix and the little man, Asterix. Then, while still remaining hidden, we must cause the smaller Gaul harm."

Achates blinked, frowning in confusion. "Harm? But I thought you said-"

"I said there would be no killing!" Lycurgus snapped, his voice a warning hiss. "This is not the same. We will use the Gaul's injury to our advantage, make it seem as though Obelix is to blame. Make Obelix _believe_ it himself."

Itylus felt that twinge of guilt once more. He knew how close Obelix was to Asterix, just by how the large Gaul spoke of him. They were as close as brothers, but with a bond perhaps even stronger. Obelix spoke of Asterix fondly, friends who could never be separated. Itylus kept getting the feeling that something dark was hanging over the village. Something residual, like the remnants of some storm. Some danger passed. He could feel it in the air. See it in the Gauls' faces. But Obelix and the small warrior especially. As though they were still trying to struggle through something. Still trying to catch their balance. Hurting Asterix was cruel enough, but causing the blame to fall on Obelix...

"But that would tear Obelix deeply," Itylus observed, feeling, even as he said it, that he was coming dangerously close to overstepping his leader's authority. He counted Lycurgus a friend, but a friend better left at a safe distance. The man's moods and passions could change in an instant, and though all he longed for was peace and strength, he sometimes resorted to the ways of those who had once been their captors.

Lycurgus nodded slowly, his eyes giving off a gleam of determination. "Precisely. He will be crushed. The words I planted in his mind before would be reinforced by, what he will believe, are his own actions." He noticed the look that crossed his Right Hand's face. "You disagree?!" He stepped toward him threateningly, causing Itylus to flinch and stumble back a few paces.

"No, My Lord!" Itylus quickly gasped, afraid that he would be struck down before he could answer. "I only wonder how we are going to accomplish this! You know I would never disagree with you!" He got a hold of himself, steadying his voice and standing back to his full height, ashamed of his momentary show of weakness. "Tell us what you wish done and we shall do it."

His leader's face instantly changed, reaching out a hand to clap Itylus on the back, not noticing the way the man tensed beneath his touch. Putting a hand beneath his cloak, Lycurgus drew out a long wind of thin string. "I got this from the fisherman's shop without his knowing. It is strong." He stretched it out, giving it a firm tug to illustrate his point. "Strong and almost invisible in its width. With this, we shall accomplish our task."

"How, My Lord?"

"Ah, you see- Shh!" Lycurgus stiffened. "Quick! Into the underbrush!"

He and his men swiftly moved behind some low hanging branches, partially tented in a blanket of fresh-fallen snow. There they were hidden quite well, and just in time. Like a whirlwind, the two Gauls they sought raced by, hot on the heels of some wild pig. The sounds of their laughter filled the air a moment, before they were gone again, merely a passing streak, the both of them. Lycurgus stepped out into the open with awe clearly written on his face, as did his two followers.

Achates was first to speak, his mouth open in shocked disbelief. "Did you see the speed at which the moved! It is not natural!"

"They were running faster than a horse at full gallop!" Itylus added, equally perplexed.

Lycurgus smiled in triumph, glad that his men had seen the wonders for themselves. "See! I told you magic resides in this place! We need only take it for ourselves! Then we shall have peace. A world of strength and perfection."

Itylus and Achates exchanged glances, now fully motivated by what they had witnessed. "Tell us what to do!" Achates cheered, "And we shall perform the task for you and all our people!"

"Good. Now take this string, and tie it across the path. Hidden in the snow. Then we shall sit and wait."

Itylus once again felt confused. "How will that injure the small Gaul?"

For the second time that morning Lycurgus was in his face, eyes gleaming in anger. "The gods shall provide a way! Do not blaspheme them with your doubts!" He seemed to calm, getting a hold of himself. "Do as I say, and we shall wait. If Ares smiles down upon us this day, we will not have to lift a finger against our hosts. The Gaul, Asterix, will harm himself."

* * *

Asterix let out a breathless chuckle. Though the Magic Potion still flowed in his veins, it was beginning to thin, almost reaching the end of its powerful cycle. His breath was coming in shorter bursts, his chest beginning to ache, though only slightly. But he wasn't about to stop. He was truly having a good time, and that was really saying something. The last two nights had been hard on him, and he had sunk so far into his worries, as he always did, that he had almost forgotten what it was like to just be himself again. To just live again, enjoying the simple pleasures of village life. Of spending time racing through the forest at superhuman speeds, attempting to catch a meal. This was what he loved. This was what it felt to be a Gaul, and he would never have given it up for anything in the world. It reminded him of why he fought so hard to keep his friends safe. Why he fought so hard against their foes. And why he would never let anything tear that apart.

With a sudden lurch in speed, Obelix managed to get ahead of Asterix again, letting out a cheering whoop of victory as he did so. That was why Asterix had chuckled. Obelix loved this even more than he did. But today Asterix planned to win their little race. He struggled to keep his balance as they went, the ground having been trampled to ice from their chasing back and forth. They had come this way before, several times, judging by how packed the snow was. He remembered this direction leading to that bowed branch covered in a blanket of fresh-fallen snow. They had passed it earlier. He had thought he saw something move within it earlier, though he hadn't really paid it much mind. Probably just a small, little snow rabbit. Nothing to worry about.

Realizing that Obelix was now hungry enough that he was actually reaching for the boar, done with the race, Asterix mustered what was left of the Magic Potion within him, bounding forward with an extra burst of speed. He couldn't help laughing at the sound of surprise Obelix made when he swooped in, snatching the boar up in his arms, taking the lead. He could feel the warm creature in his grip, and hear Obelix's roar of annoyance directly behind him. It made him smile, and gave him just a little more speed to expend.

But then everything went wrong.

Something, thin and sharp, hidden just above the snowdrifts, cut into Asterix's legs. He gasped in shock, it hurting all the more because of how cold his skin was, making it sting terrible. His feet faltered, and he lost his balance. The boar flew from his grasp with a squeal of terror as Asterix tumbled, head over heels, along the path. That alone hurt. Due to his weakening power from the Magic Potion, there was no added strength to counteract the speed at which he had been going. Each roll of the tumble hurt, and he fell against several rocks and roots hidden beneath the snow and ice. When he finally did come to a stop, he felt like one big bruise, moaning with the many aches he now felt. But that was nothing compared to the sudden weight that crashed down on him a fraction of a moment later. His breathing was cut off completely, pushed from him in an instant of pain and shock. He heard something snap, like a twig, which he might have been convinced it was, if not for the pure agony that had exploded in his arm. Without meaning to, he did what came most natural.

Asterix let loose a sharp scream of pain.

Obelix had been right behind his friend when Asterix had tripped. He had seen it, as if in slow motion. The way Asterix's legs seemed to catch on something before crumbling beneath him. Obelix had seen the boar fly off into the woods somewhere, propelled by Asterix's great speed, and he had seen Asterix lurch forward as he fell. But Obelix could not, no matter how hard he tried, slow down and stop. His speed was too great; his momentum bringing him to the same fate as his friend. Something sharp cut into his legs, stinging them. With a resounding thud, his own body hit the ground in a rumbling roll, just as Asterix had, only more forcefully powered. For a moment he was traveling in a round, balled version of himself, before he came to a sudden and violent halt.

Right on top of Asterix.

When Asterix screamed, Obelix nearly jolted out of his skin, scrambling to rise off of his friend, his mind numb with panic, the sound of Asterix's sharp cry ringing in his ears. He stumbled to his feet, revealing a very limp Asterix beneath him. The little Gaul was gasping for breath, his eyes shut tightly in terrible pain. He lay sprawled, his limbs bracing him against the flattened snow. All except one arm, which lay beneath him. He had gone terribly pale, almost as white as the flakes around him.

Obelix knelt beside Asterix, afraid to touch him. "Asterix! Asterix, I'm so sorry! Are you hurt?! Are you alright?!" His words blended together in a string of panic, his eyes searching all over, praying he would find no injury on his closest and dearest friend. "Please, Asterix! Tell me if you're hurt!"

Asterix lay there a moment, just focusing on breathing. His vision was dark around the edges, as his mind tried to make up its mind between wakefulness and unconsciousness. The initial burst of agony in his arm had now become a continuous, numbing, throb of aching pain. He wasn't quite sure what had happened, but he knew Obelix was beside him. He must try to assure his friend that he was alright. With visible difficulty, he half sat up, pushing himself upright with the arm that didn't hurt him. "I..I'm o-okay, Obelix..." he slurred. "Just a little sore...and bruised. I think if you h-help me up I should...should be..." His voice died out as he suddenly focused his eyes on the ground beneath him. "O-Obelix...?"

Obelix had noticed it too. He stared in horror at the growing patch of red that lay beneath Asterix's right arm. In fact, the little Gaul's arm was dripping with red droplets that fell into the snow, dark compared to it's clear, clean white. Obelix swallowed, feeling his heart give a sudden twist.

Asterix was bleeding.

* * *

 **Yikes! This took a lot of work to write! And it isn't easy when you're working on three other stories simultaneously! But I like doing it that way. I rotate. That way I have plenty to choose from. When ever I feel like working on one, I do. ;) But it does making postings for a certain story further apart.**

 **Well, I hope this was worth the wait! ;)**


	8. Tipping Point

"GETAFIX!"

The druid in question dropped an empty vial to the floor with a terrible shatter, his heart skipping a beat as the urgent cry reached his ears. Dogmatix, who had been at his feet, yelped in surprise, lucky to have escaped the falling vessel without it hitting him. After years of living in the village, Getafix had learned to recognize every voice, of every single Gaul that resided within the safety of their walls. He could tell who it was, and could sense their intent through the inflection of their tone. He knew at once that this one was Obelix, whose voice had always held that warm, deep sound, but that realization only filled Getafix with a sickening dread. Obelix's tone had been loud, and panicked, two things that only came out together in the large Gaul's voice when something was wrong. _Very_ wrong. And with the amount of desperation that wavered in that one, frightened word, Getafix knew it had to do with Asterix. Obelix only ever became panicked when his friend was in danger, something that brought back vivid memories from Mastix's cruel attacks on their warrior. Obelix had cried out then too, a sound that still haunted Getafix from time to time. Thank Toutatis he had only ever heard it once or twice before, but once or twice was more than enough. Each and every one of those times had seen Asterix badly hurt, and now the druid feared the worse.

Before Obelix was even through the door, Getafix was grabbing supplies off his disorganized shelves, preparing for whatever he might find. He was by no means a healer, like his good friend and fellow druid, Valuaddetax, who lived some distance away in the Carnutes. Getafix was more skilled in creativity, a type of inventor, in a sense. He created and experimented, discovering many unique potions, including his greatest work, the Magic Potion. All druids had special areas in which they were most knowledgeable. It was determined at a very early age what one's gifts might be, and then the Druids would ensure that the child received the education they needed. Getafix, his gifts being slightly more rare, had dabbled in nearly all the areas. He was well versed in magic, and potions, and, when need be, healing. Though, thankfully, he only had to resort to healing very rarely. But whenever he did, it scared him half to death.

Obelix slammed through the door at full speed, almost knocking it from its hinges and letting in a mighty gust of cold air that nearly blew out all the candles in Getafix's hut. His eyes were wide, and in his large arms he carried Asterix's stiffened form. The little Gaul was in terrible pain, gasping and crying out with every running step that Obelix had taken. But Obelix hadn't slowed down. He couldn't. His guilt and horror drove him at his fastest pace, making it to the druid's hut in record time. "GETAFIX! Asterix is-"

"Put him on the cot!" Getafix ordered sternly, over his shoulder, still trying to locate whatever it was he might need to treat the injury. He could hear Asterix gasp as he was gently lain into the bed, as well as the light moan he tried to suppress. It was something that, even now, reminded Getafix of things he had much rather have forgotten. He hadn't even glanced at Asterix yet, and his hands were trembling. Grabbing a few more vials, he turned, his arms full of potions and remedies, making his way swiftly to the bedside.

Getafix was surprised, but relieved, to see that Asterix was wholly conscious. Every other time something bad had happened, his friend had been passed out and bleeding, or otherwise completely unresponsive. And, though Getafix saw that the blond Gaul was indeed bleeding, he was glad to see that it wasn't nearly as bad as he had imagined. His heart rate slowed a little. Going by Obelix's cry he might have expected that Asterix had been run through by a Roman soldier, or worse. Not that the Romans were much of a threat to the Gauls, but Getafix could never seem to forget the fact that, without the Magic Potion, they would be helpless. Even with it, there was still a danger. The Magic Potion made one strong, not invincible. And each and every day Getafix worried that the Romans would figure that out. But know was not the time.

"What happened?" the druid asked, settling beside Asterix and trying to inspect the Gaul's arm. The warrior was breathing heavily, holding his limb to himself protectively, even though doing so caused him even more pain. He had his eyes shut tight, trying to deal with the agony without making too much of a scene, and trying to stay awake as pulse after pulse of pain swept through him. When Getafix leaned forward to take a look, Asterix's eyes snapped open and he recoiled, afraid to let anyone touch him. Obelix carrying him had been excruciating enough, and, even though he knew Getafix meant him no harm, he was well aware that it would still hurt. A lot. No matter how gentle the druid may try to be. But he also knew that he could not be helped unless he allowed the druid to do his task, and so, after a moment of fighting instinct, Asterix slowly allowed Getafix access to his injury.

The druid gave a mental sigh of relief at Asterix's acceptance of his assistance. It would not have been an easy situation otherwise. Carefully, Getafix took the arm in his old, chilly fingers, making sure not to grab too close to the injury itself. Asterix seemed to calm at his touch; perhaps the coolness soothed some of the pain. There wasn't a lot of blood, thank Toutatis, but any amount was disturbing to the druid. He had known all these Gauls since they were children, and sometimes, when one got hurt, which was rare, it was like seeing an injured child before him. The druid carefully slid his thumb over the badly bruised area of purple and blue around the actual wound, expecting to find something embedded within it, like a stick, or large thorn. The woods were full of such things. But when Asterix gave a sharp gasp, arching away from him slightly, Getafix knew this was nothing of that sort.

"What happened?!" he demanded again, thinking that perhaps Obelix had not heard him. He looked up sharply at the large Gaul, his face stern and frustrated. But when he saw how distressed Obelix was himself, he almost left Asterix to momentarily check on him. Obelix was standing beside the bed, eyes fixed on Asterix and completely motionless. Dogmatix, who had ventured near his master, was whining softly at his feet, but Obelix didn't notice. Of course, Asterix's hurts were far more visible, but Obelix too held an expression of pain, only one far more based on emotion than the physical. Getafix lowered his voice, reaching out a hand to gently brush against Obelix's wrist, getting the Gaul's attention. "What happened?"

Obelix's eyes welled up with what appeared to be tears, but he brushed them away shamefully, making Getafix even more worried. He took a deep breath, uncertain if he wanted the druid to know that this was all his fault. But he didn't know if maybe Getafix needed the facts so that he could better treat the wound, and so, haltingly, Obelix told their druid the truth. "We...We were hunting. In the woods. We found a boar and we were...you know, chasing it..."

Getafix nodded patiently, his hands still gently holding Asterix's arm, more to comfort than anything else at the moment. He knew where the injury was, since blood was still leaking from it, but he wanted to know what he was dealing with first. He longed to tell Obelix to hurry, but he knew that would be unwise. Obelix was not one to be rushed, especially when he was this upset.

"We were running..." Obelix continued, slowly. "And Asterix had gotten ahead, when he tripped..."

Getafix frowned in concern, knowing that that would hardly be enough to cause one of the Gauls such a wound. Obelix was looking more upset by the minute.

The large Gaul lowered his eyes to the ground. "I-I...I tripped after him and I...Oh, Getafix! I landed on top of him!" He plunged his face into his hands, wishing for all the world that he could just disappear; that the ground would just open up and swallow him whole. He expected their druid to be angry at him for his clumsiness. They were always warning him to be careful, and now this had happened. He wasn't sure he could take a scolding right now.

Getafix blinked, unsure of what to think of Obelix's declaration. It painted an odd image in his mind, which might have been funny...if Asterix wasn't laying on his cot, bleeding, because of it. Turning back to the blond warrior, he gently took the arm in his hands, now having an idea of what might be wrong. "Obelix, please, I need you to help me. Asterix will be fine, I promise." Getafix tried to see beneath the blood, but couldn't. He sighed, still concerned, but less than he had been. What he suspected was wrong was not life threatening, thank Toutatis. "Go and fetch a bowl of water and a rag." He felt rather than saw the large Gaul leave to do as he was told. Slowly and reluctantly.

Asterix was still breathing heavily, eyes shut tight, concentrating on keeping himself under control. When Obelix left to get the items Getafix had requested, he opened them, looking up at the druid with concern. "...Not his fault..." he breathed around the agony. "...Just tripped...Clumsy of me." He tried to smile, but it was a shaky one.

"I know that, Asterix," Getafix soothed, trying to make sure that the little Gaul stayed in bed. Asterix had made no move to get up yet, but knowing him, Getafix suspected that he would try sooner or later, before he had given permission. "But you're going to have a hard time of convincing him of that."

Asterix opened his mouth to answer, but ended up wincing instead, just as Obelix returned with the bowl and rag. He handed them to the druid, taking his place beside the bed once more, watching anxiously.

Getafix wet the rag, before gently starting to clear away the blood. He felt Asterix tense up, but remain silent, other than his haggard breathing. To try and keep his mind off the pain, Getafix began talking through the process. "Now, I am going to clear the blood away so I can get a better look at the injury. I suspect that it may be broken."

Obelix flinched at such a thought. "But when Cacofonix broke his arm, it didn't bleed like that," he worried, afraid that somehow Getafix might be wrong, and that he had actually mortally wounded his best friend.

Getafix nodded, still working diligently away at the bleeding, which, thankfully, was slowing. "That's right. That is because Cacofonix's break stayed beneath the skin. I fear that this case may be what we Druids call a Léirigh*."

Obelix looked horrified, even though he had no idea what that meant. "L-Lyry...gh," he mispronounced, a look of distaste on his face as his tongue tried to figure the strange word out.

"Léirigh. It means 'revealed'," Getafix explained. "It is when the broken bone comes through the skin." Asterix winced again, and Getafix gave him an apologetic look. "I'm sorry."

Asterix smiled weakly, though it was more of a grimace than anything else. "...S'alright..."

There was a brief knock on Getafix's door, before it opened slightly to reveal the worried face of Chief Vitalstitistix. "May I come in?" His face was flushed from the cold, and his nose was red, telling that he was still feeling a little under the weather. But he would push that aside as much as he could, as long as it meant not having to try any more of Impedimenta's horrid remedies.

"Come on in, Chief," Getafix called, without looking up from his task. "Try not to let the snowdrifts in."

Vitalstitistix did his best, not truly succeeding. The tiny flakes blew in as he stepped inside, and his only hope was that they would melt before the druid noticed. Closing the door quickly, he came to stand behind the others, looking at Asterix in concern. "Someone said they saw Obelix run by with Asterix," he uttered quietly, not wanting to disturb the silence that reigned within the hut. He winced at the blood that now stained the rag in Getafix's hand. "Said he was hurt. Everyone wanted to rush over and make sure he was alright, but I figured you wouldn't want that." He nodded to Getafix, and the druid agreed.

"This hut is far too small for that. Though it's always good to see what big hearts you Gauls have, it would have been counterproductive for everyone to come barging in at once." He smiled, sending Vitalstitistix the quickest of glances. "I suppose you were delegated to be the one to come and see what had happened."

Vitalstitistix nodded.

"Well," Getafix said, setting the dirty rag back in the bowl. He could now see the injury clearly. In the crook of Asterix's wrist was a small puncture, thankfully not as bad as the druid had seen before. This was indeed a Léirigh, for he could see the slightest hint of a sharp bit of bone poking through. Nothing serious, and certainly easy to fix. But no less painful. "You can tell them that Asterix will be fine. It's just a broken arm. It needs to be set, and bandaged." He shook his head. "You Gauls are quite resilient. Thank Toutatis."

Vitalstitistix stood looking over Getafix's shoulder. "How'd it happen?"

Asterix, despite the pain, saw the look of guilt cross Obelix's face, and quickly spoke up before his friend could answer. "I f-fell." It wasn't a lie. He had. And it wasn't Obelix's fault anyhow. He wasn't going to even mention it, if that was what it took to convince Obelix that he wasn't to blame. It was just a freak accident. That was all. Obelix shrunk back at his friend's explanation for something he believed he had caused, but remained silent.

Vitalstitistix winced again. "That must have been quite some fall."

Getafix quickly changed the subject. "It needs to be set before I can do anything else. I'm going to need your help, Vitalstitistix." He glanced to the larger Gaul. "Obelix, would you mind going out and letting the others know that everything is alright?"

Obelix stared a moment, undecided. He knew that Getafix was just trying to get him out of the hut. Obelix had seen what it was like when one sets a broken bone, back when the druid Valuaddetax had had to set Cacofonix's. It hadn't been pleasant. It had been hard enough watching it happening to the bard, but to Asterix would be even harder. Getafix knew that. And Obelix knew that. But he didn't want to abandon his friend by leaving. It made Obelix's head spin, wanting to stay and go all at once.

Asterix could see the indecision in his friend's face. He didn't want Obelix to watch them set his arm, any more than he himself wanted it to _be_ set. Obelix was upset enough, and this would only make matters worse. Asterix knew that he would be fine, once Getafix did what had to be done, and he was not going to have Obelix mentally scarred over the whole thing. He gave Obelix a stern look. "...Go ahead, O-Obelix. Do as our druid says." He knew that Obelix would refuse if he wasn't firm.

Obelix blinked, then lowered his eyes to the floor with a subtle nod. He turned and left without even looking back. Dogmatix followed, still whining softly. The pup ran out the door into the cold, just barely missing being closed in the door by his distracted master, as they left those within the druid's hut to head back toward the center of the village.

Inside, Getafix let out a sigh, getting into a more bracing position. "Alright, Chief. If you help steady him, we'll see if we can do this as quickly as we can."

Vitalstitistix nodded, moving to Asterix's other side, giving the warrior a nervous glance. Asterix returned it, neither one looking forward to the task.

* * *

Obelix trudged through the cold, fresh snow aimlessly. He hated that he had to leave his best friend to face the situation alone. But, in a way, he was glad he didn't have to watch. He had nearly fainted when he had seen the small bit of white piercing through Asterix's skin. The thought made him feel sick. He hadn't even known that was possible; that bones could do anything else other than stay inside one's body, like they were supposed to. But he trusted Getafix, and that he would soon have Asterix back on his feet. But that didn't take away the guilt he felt about the whole affair. He kept thinking back to the horrible scream Asterix had made when he had landed on him. Asterix never screamed like that, not unless he was under horrible pain. He had screamed when Mastix had attacked him, Obelix knew that. He hadn't forgotten the day the evil druid had first made his presence known. He had attacked Getafix in his hut, and, when Asterix had tried to protect their druid, had had Mastix's wrath brought down on himself as well.

Dogmatix gave a sharp yip, finally catching his master's attention. Obelix paused, stooping to let the pup jump into his hands. Dogmatix happily did so, having not enjoyed the snow at all, it being way to deep for him to traverse for any length of time. He licked Obelix's thumb as he was lifted from the ground, but then whined softly when Obelix didn't chuckle. This worried the pup, filling him with unease. He could feel Obelix's fear; fear for Asterix, but he could also sense something that was rare in his master. Guilt. It was a feeling that the pup recognized, seeing as Asterix was more prone to the feeling than most. In fact, since five months earlier, almost every human in the village seemed to be plagued with it. All except Obelix. Until now.

"Hey! Obelix!"

The voice broke the large Gaul from his depressive thoughts, bringing him up short as he realized he had already reached the center of the village square. Another moment, and he might have passed it. Most of the village was gathered there, all looking very worried. Just about as worried as he was. Obelix directed his attention to the voice that had caught his attention, finding it was Fulliautomatix.

The blacksmith was not as warmly dressed as most of the Gauls, wearing his red, tunic pants, shoes, and his weathered apron. Nothing more, other than a red scarf. Like Obelix, though not to nearly the same extent, he seemed to handle the cold quite well. The chilly wind didn't bother him as much, much like it didn't bother Lycurgus and their strange visitors. Oh, he got chilled, just like they all did, but it took longer for his teeth to chatter than most. He was hurrying toward Obelix, the whole village population following him. A moment later they were all around the large Gaul, asking question with concern in their expressions.

"Is Asterix alright?"

"We saw you run by with him, and he didn't look so good."

"Was it the Romans? Are we gonna go and give them what-for?"

"What happened?! Speak up, lad!"

Obelix felt a little overwhelmed at all their questions. It sent his head spinning, mixing them with all the questions of his own worried mind. He glanced from one person to the next, his confusion evident. Thankfully, it was Fulliautomatix who fixed the problem.

"Alright, alright! Everyone back off! I know we're all anxious, but if we don't give Obelix some room he's gonna lose it!"

What exactly the blacksmith meant by 'lose it', Obelix didn't have a clue, but he generally agreed. He felt his heart calm down a bit as the Gauls gave him some space. He took a deep breath before recounting what Getafix had told him to say. "Asterix is going to be fine," he reported nervously, not at all convincingly. "He...He broke his arm, but Getafix and Vitalstitistix are taking care of it."

Geriatrix waved his cane in the air, demanding to be answered from before. "But what happened?!"

Obelix's eyes lowered to the ground, not knowing how to respond. He remembered Asterix's stern glance, and realized that, for now, it would be better to stick to his friends answer. It wasn't a lie, even if it wasn't a whole truth, and it seemed that Getafix also supported it. In truth, Obelix was afraid to tell them what had really happened. What if they got mad at him? What if they blamed him? Obelix didn't think he could handle that right now. And so, with a shrug that felt way to careless for the situation, he answered. "He fell."

Geriatrix either didn't buy it, or simply wasn't happy with the explanation. "Fell? What in Toutatis' n-"

"Can we see him?" Impedimenta asked. She was wrapped in a pink shawl, probably one of the most appropriately dressed persons around, as for as weather wise. Her eyes held concern for their warrior, something that, for some reason, touched Obelix deeply.

"No, Getafix said he doesn't want too many people about in his hut. Said it'll make taking care of Asterix harder." Obelix blinked, realizing that the woman standing beside Impedimenta was Agafya, Lycurgus's wife. She too seemed concerned, eyes wide as she heard what had befallen the village's smallest, adult member. Other than Geriatrix. She looked odd among the familiar faces. Uncomfortable even. But she and Impedimenta had grown rather close, both the wife of a chieftain of sorts, they had a lot in common. Lately, wherever Impedimenta was, there was always Agafya. "Getafix says he'll be alright," Obelix repeated, more for his own assurance than anyone else's.

The Gaul's began talking amongst themselves, creating a hum of activity that was really quite loud, given the time of morning. Obelix looked around him, seeing that no one was directing their attention to him, which was fine. He didn't feel up to being talked to any more. Turning, he began to make his way back toward Getafix's hut. He knew that the druid hadn't wanted him there, for his own good, as well as for Asterix's own good, but Obelix couldn't help thinking that it would be better for _both_ of them if he was there. He and Asterix hardly ever separated, and, as guilty as he felt, Obelix wanted to be at his friend's side.

He had managed to leave the village square unnoticed, heading along the empty path toward the druid's cottage, but a voice made him freeze, out of surprise, and, in a way, fear.

"Obelix, what happened?"

Obelix turned, looking a little more frightened than he had meant to let on. There, just behind him, was Lycurgus. The fellow was a brute of a man, especially when he wore a frown, such as he was sporting now. Obelix shrunk back a few paces, wishing for all that he was worth that he was not alone with this man again. The last time they had spoken, Lycurgus had sent his world spinning out of balance. And now, after what had happened, Lycurgus was the very last person he wished to see. "W-What do you mean?" Obelix stammered, hoping that he was inquiring about something else entirely.

Lycurgus's frown deepened. "I just heard that the small warrior has been injured. How did this happen?"

Obelix flinched visibly, Dogmatix growling slightly in his hands at the man who stood far closer than the pup liked. "He fell."

"Fell?"

"In the forest, while we were running. He fell." Now that he had chosen that as his steadfast answer, Obelix was beginning to feel as though that were the whole truth. Asterix _had_ fallen. He really had. Lycurgus, however, seemed less convinced.

"Falling in fresh-fallen snow does not break bones, Obelix." He moved closer by a few steps, so that Obelix could see the look of concern on his face, though Obelix certainly couldn't detect how insincere it truly was. "What really happened?" His eyes bore into the Gaul, as though he could already read the guilt written on his heart. Obelix tried to withstand it, out last the staring contest between them, but, in the end, he lost.

Obelix lowered his head. "I...We both fell...and I fell on top of him." There was a long pause, in which Obelix was sure Lycurgus was still frowning at him with those dark, frightening orbs of his. When the traveler finally spoke, Obelix almost startled right out of his shoes.

"Obelix...Did not I warn you that this would happen?" His voice was pitying, but in a strange, needling way.

"This has nothing to do with that!" Obelix suddenly yelled defensively, so loud that it made both Dogmatix and Lycurgus jump. "I didn't do it on purpose, it was just an accident!" His conversation with the man before him returned to his mind once again, loudly assaulting his senses.

 _"Would you ever hurt Asterix again on purpose?"_

 _"Of course not!"_

 _"Ah, but someday you might."_

 _"Never!"_

 _"Then by accident then."_

Obelix didn't want to believe it for a second. He had been so certain that he could never hurt Asterix, accident or no; he would never hurt his best friend...But he had. Asterix was broken, like some little wooden toy that they had enjoyed so much as children. Obelix had had one once, of a dog, that Dogmatix held an uncanny resemblance to. But one day, Obelix had been playing with it, and accidentally sat on it. Had it been any other child, the toy might have lost an ear or its tail, but with Obelix's weight and strength, it had been left in little more than splinters. The thought made him shudder. That could have been Asterix. That _was_ Asterix. He had broken him. It was all his fault.

Lycurgus seemed to read the expression on the Gaul's face, shaking his head sadly. "I'm afraid this has everything to do with it, my friend. Your strength is growing, as I said it would. Soon, things like this will happen all the time."

Obelix was suddenly very frightened, and it showed in his voice. "No it won't! You're lying!"

"And what reason would I have to lie? I simply want to help you, Obelix."

The large Gaul was trembling now, whether in rage or fear, he didn't know. "I would never hurt my friends! We're...we're a village, and villages are like...like family!"

Lycurgus's voice was smooth as silk. "Ah, but you are hurting them. Look what you've done to Asterix. Do you think he'll forgive you?"

"Yes! He already has!"

Lycurgus smirked slightly. "Has he?"

"Yes, he..." Obelix trailed off suddenly, his mind remembering the stern look Asterix had given him when he had not wanted to leave the druid's hut. Obelix had taken it for concern that he would not leave, and would want to stay and see the bone being set. But now, looking back, was it possible that Asterix had wanted him to leave...because Asterix was mad at him? Was that it? But Asterix had...No, he hadn't. Asterix hadn't mentioned the incident at all. He hadn't said 'I forgive you, Obelix', or 'it wasn't your fault, Obelix'. He hadn't said anything. Except that he had 'fallen' and that he wanted Obelix to...leave. Obelix's heart gave a sudden twist, his mind plunged into an even deeper guilt. A guilt that no one would be able to heal now. Because he truly believed it. That it was all his fault. Because, if Asterix thought it was, then it had to be.

"What...What do I do?" he asked weakly.

Lycurgus raised an eyebrow. "Do? There is little to be done. You are incurable of this curse. You are doomed to forever be trapped in the fear of your own strength, and the danger it may bring to your fellow Gauls." He paused, for effect. "Unless..."

Obelix's eyes widened, as he hugged Dogmatix to him just a little tighter. "Unless?! Unless what?!"

Lycurgus smiled. "There is a woman, by the name of Abbadōn. She resides in Burdigala. She is very well versed in magic, and healing. A sort of...woman druid, I suppose you could say. She has great powers. Perhaps she can take away your strength."

Obelix felt a sort of nagging at the back of his mind. He had never heard of a woman druid before. And Getafix had always warned them of those outside the village who were capable of wielding magic. If Getafix did not know them personally, he would not let them near the individual at all, especially after their encounter with Mastix. Getafix had even been rather reluctant to let Valuaddetax and the Venerable Druid treat them. But this was an emergency. Getafix did not know how to take away his strength. He had always said that it was permanent. But know, Lycurgus was saying that it might not be. It seemed to good to be true, for something that Obelix had given up on since he was a little boy. To reverse the mistake of him falling into the Magic Potion.

Obelix blinked slowly, finding all this rather hard to digest. "But...what would I be without my strength?"

Lycurgus gave a sad smile. "Free. Free of the fears that are haunting you this very moment. You will no longer fear harming your friends. They will be safe." His smile grew slightly cold. "Isn't that worth giving up such power?"

Obelix felt sick. "Y-yes..." Yes, he supposed it was.

"Good." Lycurgus turned, beginning to leave. "Oh, you may wish to leave soon, and unseen. You're friends may try to stop you. They don't realize that you're doing this to keep them safe."

Obelix nodded numbly.

Lycurgus left, leaving Obelix standing alone, Dogmatix now held in his weakened grip. He stood staring into space a moment, a look of emotional pain on his face; one of indecision. This was all happening way to fast. He hadn't agreed to go...had he? Then again, in a way, Lycurgus was right. Obelix could see that now. Breaking Asterix's arm might only be the beginning, and he hadn't even been mad when it happened! What if he lost his temper? What would happen then? He shuddered to think, making up his mind at last. Turning sharply and heading toward his own cottage, he left all thoughts of going to Getafix's in the past. He entered his hut, jolting the door open so fast that it caused Itylus, who was there, to startle terribly.

"Obelix! How did the h-"

"I'm leaving."

Itylus feigned shock and confusion. "W-What?"

"I'm leaving," Obelix repeated. He was grabbing a few things off of a few shelves in the back, throwing them into a small sack that was made smaller by his enormous size. "I can't stay here, after what I've done. Not until I'm safe to be around." He threw in a blanket, not that he really needed it. "I'm going to Burdigala to see a lady druid. She'll be able to help me."

Itylus was surprised with how fast Lycurgus had worked his will in Obelix. By Ares, he was still in shock at how well the plan had gone at all! Lycurgus could not have known that Asterix would trip over the wire they had hidden. And that he had tripped _first!_ And, even more miraculously, that Obelix had landed on top of him, breaking the warrior's arm. What were the chances?! And yet, Lycurgus had almost seemed to know the entire time, 'trusting it to the gods' as he had said. It was frightening. It made Itylus a bit unnerved. If Lycurgus could predict even the whim of the gods, what else could he do?

"You're going now?!" Itylus gasped, perhaps overplaying his part a bit.

"Yes."

"Are you going to tell anyone you're leaving?"

Obelix paused. Turning to the man, he shook his head. "Just you. Itylus, please, promise you won't tell them where I've gone. Please promise!" He seemed frightened that Itylus would say no. The look of complete trust made the traveler uncomfortable, and, for the briefest moment, guilty.

Itylus swallowed. "Of course, Obelix. I promise."

Obelix seemed to wilt with relief. He looked down suddenly at the pup that he still held in one hand. He paused to pet it lovingly, before holding it out to Itylus. "Could you also...watch out for Dogmatix. Just until I get back. He's not any trouble." Dogmatix growled softly, and Obelix gave him a look. "Dogmatix, you will behave!"

Itylus took the dog reluctantly. Dogmatix glared up at him, and the traveler decided to set the pup on the ground before instinct overruled the pup's sense of obedience to his master's command. "I will watch him."

"Good. Good." Obelix shouldered his sack, much like the manner he often carried his menhirs. A twinge of sadness pricked his heart, knowing that, without his strength, he would no longer be able deliver the stones in that way. But it would be worth it. If it meant keeping Asterix and his friends safe, then it was more than worth it.

"W-wait!" Itylus couldn't understand his sudden feeling of regret, but he pushed it down, changing his words. "I...I hope your quest will be safe, and that...that you will find what you seek."

Obelix gave him a sad smile, one that just didn't belong on the Gaul's cheerful, round face. "Thanks. I'll...I'll be back before anyone knows I'm gone." With that, Obelix stepped out his door and was gone. Just like that. One moment he had been there, and the next he was off on a journey from which, to only Itylus's knowledge, he might never return. And if he did, he would no longer be a threat.

Itylus stood perfectly still, listening as Dogmatix clawed at the wood of the closed door, pining softly. His heart was filled with sadness, but also fear because of that sadness. He was Itylus, Lycurgus's Right Hand. He could not hold sentiment to those who stood in his master's way. They were the enemy. They were weak. They were inferior.

Then why did it still feel so wrong?

* * *

 ***Léirigh = Irish for "revealed". Made it up, because I though that "compound fracture" didn't sound Druidic enough. :)**


	9. Morning

Early morning sunshine leaked in through the cracks in the woodwork of Getafix's hut, creating small, little beams that faded in and out, dust motes floating within them. While the world outside was surely cold, the druid's hearth was still alight with gently glowing embers, warming the cottage quite nicely. There was no wind, and all was silent; no creaking of wood or even the gentle tinkle of ice crystals against the roof. All was still. All was peaceful.

But Asterix felt anything but. He had brooded, for most of the late hours, seeing as Getafix had insisted he spend the night in the druid's hut. Declaring warnings of blood loss and 'further injury', Getafix had practically forced him to stay, all the while Asterix knowing his true reason. Getafix knew him too well. The druid knew that if he were to let him back out so soon after an injury, he would more than likely cause himself more harm by 'overdoing it'. And, as much as Asterix would have liked to disagree that point, he knew fair and well that it was absolutely true. He would have gone about the remainder of the previous day as though nothing had happened. And that, no matter what he wanted to believe, would not have been good for him in the least.

But that hadn't been the only thing that had kept him awake for most of the dark hours of the night. His thoughts had quickly shifted to Obelix, and, once they had, he could think of little else. He kept seeing the look of terror and hurt in Obelix's eyes; the way he had seemed to shrink in on himself with guilt and grief. How was Asterix supposed to sleep after that? And it wasn't like he hadn't been tired. Getting crushed by your best friend could really knock the energy out of you, especially when things like your arm were broken in the process. And then there was the whole thing of resetting the bone. Despite Getafix and Vitalstitistix trying their hardest to be gentle, having one's shattered arm ground back into place wasn't exactly Asterix's idea of fun. Not that he remembered much of it. As soon as Getafix had given the signal, and the process had begun, he had passed out. When he had awakened, it was dark out, and the druid had made it quite clear that he would not be leaving the bed until morning. _If_ he was lucky.

And, though he had waited and waited, Obelix had never come to see him. That was what worried Asterix the most. Through everything that they had ever endured; every hardship and trial, they had always been by each other's side. Asterix had expected nothing else then to awaken to Obelix's anxious face looking down at him. The fact that that hadn't happened was...troubling. He knew Obelix was upset. Very upset. But he had been upset in the past, and had never not been there for him. Not that Asterix wanted to be selfish. He was just confused. Why would Obelix break a 'tradition' after so many years of keeping it? That question was what kept the short Gaul tossing and turning all night. He would have sneaked out of bed and gone to find him...if Getafix hadn't made him give his word to stay put. Asterix could not go against his word. Especially to Getafix. And so he had spent a long, lonely night wishing that his mind would just calm down and drift off to sleep. Obelix would be there in the morning.

Then why was something deep inside of him disagreeing so violently?

"Asterix?"

The voice was soft, still laced with sleep. Asterix turned his head from gazing up at the thatched ceiling to look over at the druid. Getafix looked amusingly bedraggled, what with all that beard he sported. Asterix always imagined it must be hard to sleep with so much facial hair. It was a wonder the druid hadn't been smothered as of yet. Getafix's beard was frizzed and tangled; bunched up and curled around his shoulders and chest like a white shawl. His eyes were still laden with drowsiness, but he was quickly breaking out of its grip on him, becoming more and more awake. His gaze was filled with concern, and a bit of questioning.

Asterix sighed. "Yes, Getafix...I'm awake." He slowly rose himself into a sitting position, careful not to jolt his bandaged arm, which was snugly tucked to his side. It was a little hard to manage one-handed, but he succeeded, scooting back a bit to gain a better balance as Getafix came forward and sat on the chair by his bedside. The chair that Asterix couldn't help noticing was completely Obelix-lacking.

The druid raised a bushy eyebrow, his concern growing by the look on Asterix's face. It was a look he should be getting used to by now. It was Asterix's look of worry. His look of 'I have a bad feeling', or 'something's wrong'. It was a look of a sleepless night that robbed the Gaul of most of his natural color. Or maybe that was just the blood he had lost. Either way, Getafix could tell that Asterix needed to get a few things off his chest. And, whether the little warrior decided to or not, Getafix was willing and ready to listen anyway. He chose his next words carefully, watching Asterix's face for any reaction. "Nightmares again?"

"No." The blond Gaul gave a sad smile. In fact, his sleep, what little he had had, was quite void of dreams. "A guilty conscience."

Getafix nodded, feeling inwardly surprised that it had been so easy to get Asterix to open up. "What for this time?" That came out a little more harshly than he had intended. Not harsh...Impatient? Maybe. He wasn't sure what he was feeling. Asterix always blamed himself for things that he had no control over whatsoever. It was worrisome and, Getafix was sure, unhealthy.

"Getafix, it's not like I try to be like this...It's just that..." Asterix paused, his eyes straying to the window, covered with a thick drape though it might be. It was as though he could see right through it. Right out into the village in which he alone stood to protect. Well, maybe not alone. But sometimes it felt like it. "It's just that there's so many responsibilities that rest on my shoulders...whenever the slightest thing goes wrong, I somehow feel that it's my fault. That I should have been able to prevent it." He shook his head sheepishly, knowing what the druid's answer would be.

"And that has nearly cost you your life quite a few times." Getafix frowned. "Have you ever regretted those responsibilities? Of stepping forward to be the Village Warrior?"

Asterix blinked, long and slowly. In fact, he closed his eyes altogether. Finally, he answered. "...No. But it is hard...sometimes."

"You feel guilty about getting hurt, don't you?" the druid pressed, trying to meet his friend's gaze. "You know that is ridiculous." He wanted to diminish these feelings in Asterix as soon as possible. It always only led to trouble, and of that, mostly for Asterix himself.

Asterix gave a chuckle, a little of his normal continence returning to him. "It's not that I feel guilty about breaking my arm..." The smile faded. "I feel guilty about _how_ I broke it. Obelix is blaming himself at this very minute; I know he is. I know him so well, I can almost guess what he's feeling. I can almost feel it." He rubbed the shoulder of his injured arm with his uninjured hand. He really _could_ almost feel it. And he knew why. This was another one of those Solas Anam things. Now that he was aware of them, he noticed them more. The way he could sense danger long before anyone else. The way he could almost feel the feelings of those around him. Like Obelix's. Though he only just barely realized how faint it was compared to the usual cascade of emotions Obelix tended to give off. Asterix could swear his 'gift' was getting stronger. Or maybe it was just because it had been on his mind a lot lately. Ever since Mastix.

He frowned to himself. The name caused his body to heat up in anger, and fear. Mastix had hurt his friends. His family. And had almost killed him. No. No matter how hard Asterix tried to deny it, he _had_ died. And he still, to that day, had no idea how he had come back. Not that he was complaining. He just wished that he could forget all about the whole incident. Mastix might be gone, dead and buried, but his dark shadow had still yet to be lifted from all their hearts. They still needed to be healed. Oh Toutatis, how they needed to be healed from this...

"...Asterix?"

The Gaul jerked his head back up, not having even realized that it had sunk down to rest in his hand, forehead pressed into his palm. He looked up, eyes meeting Getafix's, whose aged hand had stretched forward in comfort, but not touching, as though he believed doing so would only hurt him more. Getafix sighed, lowering his hand and averting his eyes to the side.

"I know, Asterix. I know. Things just haven't been the same, have they? But, I suppose that is to be expected. After what we went through." He turned back, encouragement radiating from him. "But you will be alright."

Now it was Asterix's turn to avert _his_ gaze. "It's not me I'm worried about."

Getafix nodded, understanding. "Obelix will be fine. We all will be."

"I know. I just wish it would...hurry up and happen."

Getafix smiled, a hint of his usual teacher threading its way back through his soul. "Many things in life cannot be rushed. Most of all healing." He looked down at Asterix's limp limb. "It is like your arm. Held gently in place, it will soon mend. But jostle it and force it to work when it is not ready will only do it more harm than good. An injury such as that must be given time."

"You know I can't do that, Getafix."

The druid blinked, wondering whether Asterix meant his arm or the mental scares Mastix had left. Maybe both. "And why not?"

Asterix sort of shrunk into himself a bit, his eyes falling to gaze down at the sheets he was gripping tightly in his free hand. "Because...Because I have to keep an eye on things out there." He looked back to the window. To the village. Before Getafix could protest, Asterix turned sharply back to the druid, expression slightly desperate. "I'll be careful. I promise. I...I just can't sit here. It's not in my nature."

Getafix held his gaze for a long moment before giving a rueful smile, throwing his hands up into the air above his head. "And no one knows that better than me! All you Gauls are as stubborn and thick-headed as you ever were!" He poked a gentle finger into Asterix's chest. "You especially."

That actually made Asterix laugh, as he slowly drew back the covered and shifted to sitting on the side of the cot. "I'll take that as a compliment." He gave a wince as he moved his arm, cradling it gingerly. It was going to be difficult getting around like this.

"Oh, Asterix, wait a moment." Getafix rose, quickly fetching something from his store room, coming back with a strip of linen. He held it up, giving Asterix a grin. "Cacofonix can vouch that these work well. This sling should keep your arm from moving about too much, despite the fact that I have failed to keep _you_ from doing so." He knelt to carefully place Asterix's arm against the small Gaul's chest before fixing it there with the cloth. He worked gently, not wanting to hurt the little warrior further. He saw Asterix yawn, which caused him to frown again. "Did you get _any_ sleep last night?"

"A little." Asterix tested moving with the sling, finding it much less painful. He sighed. "Enough."

Getafix looked skeptical, tying off the knot that would hold the sling in place. "I doubt that." He finished, leaning back on his heals as Asterix stood to his feet and headed for the door. "Where are you going?"

The Gaul lay a hand on the door, looking back over his shoulder. "Obelix's hut. I want to...to make sure he's alright." He wasn't sure how Getafix would react to that. But it wasn't like the druid could stop him. Getafix had never forced him to do anything, and Asterix was half afraid that today would be the day that the druid would put his foot down. Asterix knew how much their last adventure had effected Getafix, even if it was far less visible in the druid than in anyone else. It had left scars in his heart too, ones still yet to be healed. And yet he seemed far better at hiding his hurt than any of them. Maybe because Getafix had done it before.

Getafix nodded slowly, before rising and grabbing his scarf. He joined his friend by the door, wrapping the material around his neck. "I will accompany you." He looked down into Asterix's surprised expression, resisting the urge to chuckle. But then the small warrior's face became determined and defensive.

"Getafix, if you're coming to keep an eye on me I-"

"I am coming to check on Obelix; same as you." Without another word, Getafix opened the door and headed out into the crisp morning air. He poked his head back inside with a smirk. "... _And_ keep an eye on you." Then he disappeared outside once again.

Asterix gave a roll of his eyes, though he was smiling. Giving a chuckle, he headed to follow, closing the door firmly behind him.

* * *

"Cursed mutt! Shut-up!"

Itylus was under Dogmatix's watchful eye, and he knew it. Since Obelix had left, the dog had done nothing but bark and growl at him with a mix of anger and fear. The traveler knew that his people could not yet afford the Gauls to know that Obelix was gone. It would make everything far more complicated. The barking would surely alert them that things were not as they should be. It would prove unfavorable at this time, and Lycurgus would surely be angry with him. And calling down his leader's wrath was the last thing in the world the Right Hand wanted. Finally, having had enough of the little pup's noise, Itylus lurched, grabbing Dogmatix by the scruff of the neck. The dog gave a whimper, breaking into a bark he had been in the middle of producing. He squirmed, kicking and twisting in the man's grip as Itylus marched across the room toward Obelix's storage room. He even tried to give the man a nip, which was impossible in his current position.

Dogmatix's eyes widened, realizing what was coming. He struggled harder, each movement he made pulling on the skin the horrid man clutched in his grip. The pain it caused impeded his movement, and he found that all his struggling did was make matters worse. He wasn't sure what had happened to his master, but the urgency he was feeling, and sensing, was making him very uneasy. He wanted to find Asterix. Asterix would know what to do. He always did. Dogmatix always felt a presence of peace when Asterix was nearby, and, though that peace had been tarnished recently, it still shone brightly. Dogmatix longed and pined for the warrior, hoping against all hope that Asterix could fix whatever had gone wrong.

Itylus opened the door to the store room with a jolt, giving Dogmatix a growl of his own before throwing the pup in with a rough flick of his wrist. The dog slid across the cobblestones a few feet, slamming into a barrel and getting entangled in some rope. He gave a final whine, ears drooping.

"Now be quiet!" Itylus hissed, and with that he slammed the door shut, not knowing that his words were unnecessary. Dogmatix was far to dazed to make another sound, and it was unlikely that he would for quite some time. In his mind thought, Itylus believed that the wall and door of the store room ought to keep the pup from being heard. The walls of the Gaulish store rooms were thick, thicker than any other part of the hut. Probably a way to keep food fresh and cool during the warmer months. Now it was frigid. And, though Itylus was annoyed with Dogmatix, he had no intention of leaving the pup in there until he froze. Not even he had the cruelty within him to freeze the dog to death in his own master's cottage. He would let him out in a while, when he had a better grasp on what he should do. Itylus sighed, feeling relieved in the sudden quiet. But it was short-lived. Almost at once there was a loud knock on the front door of Obelix's cottage that sounded as violent as thunder in the silence. With a startle, Itylus jumped back, hand held to his chest, before he managed to compose himself. He took a deep breath, trying to look as natural as possible. "Come in!"

The door creaked open slowly, before a gust of wind pulled it from opener's hand. It slammed into the wall, making a dreadful bang that, somehow, made Itylus even more on edge. He shuffled back again, pressing into the wall with a gasp. The ruffled figure of the village druid was now fully visible, him too looking startled by the door that was no longer in his grasp. He blinked a moment, taking in the stone wall the wood had slammed into, before entering, giving the traveler a friendly, and slightly apologetic, smile. "Good morning, Itylus. Is Obelix here?"

Itylus tried to stifle the horror those words caused him, pushing it down inside of him and remaining outwardly calm. Though only just. The sight of Asterix suddenly following the druid made him nearly lose it. To see the little Gaul, so soon after what they had just done to him, hit him harder than Itylus would have thought it would. The man looked pale, his arm in a sling, and hair ruffled. He looked weaker and smaller than he ever had before.

Than why was Itylus suddenly so afraid of him?

"I fear he is not, O Druid," he responded distractedly, making himself look busy as he made his cot. He pulled and tugged at the woolen covers, stretching them as taught as possible. It had to be as neat as a pin, a place of order in this world of natural chaos. It had to be. "I have not seem him since yesterday." He instantly regretted his words, knowing that, though that got him clear of suspicion, it only fueled Asterix's worry and determination to find his friend.

"Yesterday?!" Asterix cried out as though those words were a stab to his heart. He was feeling increasingly ill. Not a sick kind of ill, but a _feeling_ kind of ill, an _emotional_ kind of ill, like when you are so certain that something is wrong your stomach churns with anxiety. It digs and jabs and needles, making you more and more certain that all is not as it should be. Asterix couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something was up, and it wasn't good. "You mean he hasn't been home? At all?" Without meaning to, he had taken several menacing steps forward, and, despite his small stature, Itylus took an involuntary step backward.

Getafix lay a gentle hand on the small Gaul's uninjured shoulder, bringing him back a bit. "Asterix, calm down. Itylus, when was last you saw him?" The druid looked back up at the traveler, eyes filled with the same level of fear that Asterix held, only more controlled.

Itylus swallowed. He felt as though the world were trying to press in around him, but he fought it back. He would _not_ be weak. He was strong, as all his kind were strong. These Gauls should mean nothing, because they _were_ nothing. He just needed to make sure he remembered that. "He had returned from hunting," he answered huffily. "He didn't tell me anything of it, but he seemed very upset."

"Oh, Obelix..." Asterix felt his heart sink even more. It was one thing to _think_ Obelix was hurt from the whole incident, but quite another to _know_ for certain. It painted in his mind a very vivid image of his closest friend sitting alone somewhere, crying in that sensitive way he always had, ever since they were children. It broke his heart. He had always been the one to be there for Obelix when he felt that way. It had always been his...his purpose, to balance out the weaker strings of his friend's character, just as it had always seemed to be Obelix's purpose to do the same for him.

"He muttered something about leaving," Itylus supplied, almost carelessly. "And started packing up a number of things. Odds and ends."

Both Getafix and Asterix's mouths opened in shock. Whatever hold against their panic they had possessed, left them. " _What_?!"

"He left soon after."

Asterix's eyes opened wide, horror and anger warring it out in his expression. He reached forward, grabbing two handfuls of Itylus's tight-fitting tunic. It was hard to tell whether he was threatening or just plain overcome with worry, but either way, Itylus found his grip stronger than he would have thought. "Why didn't you stop him?!" Asterix's eyes shone with fear, and, for a moment, again, it almost threw off Itylus's facade.

The traveler regained his stance, however, then frowned down at the little man, as though he were little more than dirt. "Is it my job to tell a man of his size and strength what to do?!" he demanded, pulling away roughly, pushing the Gaul's hands off of him and smoothing out the wrinkles Asterix had made in the fabric. His glare pierced into the warrior, and Asterix held that glare until he could no longer do so. With a sound somewhere between a groan and a gasp, the Gaul turned and left.

"Asterix! Asterix!" Getafix called after his friend as the Gaul suddenly ran from the cottage, leaving the door wide open in his wake. All Getafix could think of was Asterix's condition and how he should really be in bed, resting, rather than running around in the winter air. "Oh, for Toutatis' sake!" The druid gave Itylus an apologetic look before taking off to catch up with the small warrior. He did so fairly quickly, seeing as Asterix had paused, head turning from side to side in the village center as though overwhelmed on where to search first. Getafix sighed, coming up beside him and laying a hand on his shoulder to keep him in place. "Asterix, you cannot go running about in this weather with a broken arm! What if you fall?"

The Gaul tried to pull away, not even seeming to notice that he had forgotten his scarf back at the druid's hut. "Getafix, I have to find Obelix! He's missing; don't you understand?!" The look of desperation in Asterix's face was enough to tip Getafix's composer into an uneasy level. But, always trying to keep the calm, he managed to hide it. The druid frowned, his grip on Asterix tightening just a little.

"I understand fine and well, Asterix," he said sternly, as though talking to the child the warrior used to be. Asterix had been so much easier to understand then. So much easier to handle. "But just because he is not at home, does not mean he is not here at all. He is probably here in the village somewhere. Itylus said he left his _hut_ , that doesn't mean he left the _village_."

"Getafix." The name came out as a gasp, not of pain or anger, but of a pleading nature. "Do you really believe that Obelix would be here in the village, and not be by my side? Especially after what happened?" His eyes searched the druid's, trying to discern the answer before Getafix could even think of one himself. He knew something was wrong. And he knew even Getafix could feel it.

Asterix had always been somewhat compulsive. Strategic, but compulsive; as if those two things could really go together. He was smart, and always had a plan. But there were times, few and far apart, when his cleverness failed him. When he _didn't_ have a plan, or even a _glimpse_ of an idea. It was then that he became compulsive. Like he had when he had surrendered to Mastix. Thought gave way to emotion. And it stopped him cold. He didn't want to make a mistake. Not again. But just what had been his mistake? What voice was he supposed to listen to? The voice of reason? Or the voice of his feelings? It drove him dizzy sometimes. Especially now.

Getafix allowed his hand to slowly slide off of the Gaul's shoulder, sighing in resignation. "...No. No, I suppose he wouldn't."

Asterix nodded, glad that he wouldn't have to fight Getafix on this. He respected the druid immensely, but even his respect would bow out when his friends were in trouble. He knew that. Getafix knew that. Everyone knew that. Asterix would go against anything to defend those he cared about. And he cared for Obelix like a brother. Strangely enough, Asterix knew that that was something Getafix understood perfectly. Obelix had told him how the druid had gone against the very laws of his order, just to help him and save his life. It was a side to Getafix Asterix had never seen, and now knew lay beneath that calm, gentle exterior. "Then he must be outside the village. I'm going to check the forest. See if you can get the others to double check all the huts and grounds inside the wall." He started off, but Getafix caught his uninjured arm, bringing him back around. Asterix turned to give him a look, but Getafix was busy unwrapping his scarf from his neck. He handed it to Asterix with a slight nod.

"You mustn't get cold." He paused. "Take Fulliautomatix with you."

With a grateful smile, Asterix took off for the blacksmith's hut. He didn't have any Magic Potion on him at the moment, but he gave little thought to that. All he could think about was finding Obelix.

* * *

 **Ohmygoodness, I am so sorry at how long it took me to get this up! :(**

 **It's been a madhouse around here lately. Schools going very well, but it is BUSY. And then, I help run two Bible studies, I help out in the kids room at Church, and I've recently been bitten by the drawing bug (figuratively speaking). But, through it all, writing has always been the thing that relaxes me. :) So, I hope this chapter is as enjoyable to you as it was to me. ;)**


	10. Get Him Back

"Any luck?" Vitalstitistix inquired, as the various search parties gathered back in the village center. It was well in the afternoon by now, and the wind had picked up considerably, indicating that a storm was underway. The air was cold, more so than it had been before, probably because the clouds now covered the sun's warming rays.

Asterix felt as though his answer were as heavy as lead. "Not at all. If he's here, then he's gotten very good at hiding overnight." Obelix had always been very poor at playing hide and seek, due to him thinking he was considerably smaller than he was. He never seemed to realize that his sizely girth could not fit in the small places he used to climb into, and he had not lost that illusion even as an adult. "I don't understand this!" the blond Gaul said in frustration. "Why would he be hiding from us? Where would he go?"

"Maybe he's down by the waterside," Cacofonix suggested. The bard was well bundled up, even more so than usual. Despite everyone's insisting he stay inside, out of the cold, he had made sure he was a part of the search for their friend, sick or no. "You know how he likes it down there."

Asterix sighed sadly, eyes downcast. "No, Fulliautomatix and I checked. There aren't even any footprints in the snow down there." And Obelix, without a shadow of a doubt, _would_ _have_ left footprints.

Unhygienix patted his own arms in an attempt to keep warm. His boar-fur tunic and woolen scarf did little against the cold, and it was only his worry and friendship to Obelix that kept him away from his warm hearth and family. He and several others had gone down to Obelix's quarry, hoping to find the large Gaul there. But they hadn't. "You...You don't suppose he went for a walk and got lost, do you?"

Asterix shook his head with absolute certainty. "Not Obelix. He can always find his way home, especially around mealtimes." Obelix, despite his lack of knowledge of many things, even the stars, had always been very good at finding his way. When Asterix had asked him how he knew where to go, the large Gaul had simply shrugged, saying that he just knew. Asterix felt a prick of sorrow and pain in his soul, his fear clearly evident in his eyes. "I...I know he was upset about what happened yesterday...but, he's been upset before, and he was always very straightforward with it. He'd always come and talk with me." Obelix never held anything inside. When something was wrong, he always spoke his mind. The fact that he had just up and disappeared left an ache in Asterix's heart that he couldn't quite place.

A shadow fell over the small warrior and, half out of habit and half out of hope, he spun around, almost expecting it to be Obelix. He was sorely disappointed. Lycurgus, proud and bare-chested as always, stood over him, looking down at him as if he was lower than dirt. And yet, for the first time, the man seemed to be addressing Asterix directly, without the full weight of contempt that his voice usually held. "Do I understand correctly that you are searching for the big Gaul?"

"Obelix," Asterix corrected, a little bitterly. "Yes." He still didn't trust this man, but there was no reason to be rude, even if he wanted to. The man had never done anything to hurt them, and he had seemed to have warmed up to Obelix quite a bit. Perhaps he was just concerned. "Have you seen him?"

The tall, stately man gazed out in the direction of the gate, rather dramatically, eyes slowly taking in the walls and the forest treetops he could just barely see beyond. "I have indeed," he intoned lowly. "He left your village yesterday, to take a long journey to 'correct his mistake', as he put it." The lie, unbeknownst to any of the Gauls, even Asterix, slipped from his lips without even the slightest effort.

A look of confusion swept across Asterix's face, along with a fair amount of worry. "Correct his mistake? How? He hasn't done anything wrong!'' Of that he was certain. Obelix was the most innocent, child-like person he had ever known. He loved food, enjoyed a good punch-up with the Romans, and cared more for their village than anyone could truly realize. Obelix not only _hadn't_ done anything wrong, he was practically _incapable_ of doing anything wrong. At least, that was how Asterix felt. A few instances came to mind, but he pushed them away. None of them held any relevance to the current situation.

"Well, he certainly seemed to think so," Lycurgus replied, almost indignantly, as though Asterix were calling him a liar. "He left for Burdigala, to see Abbadōn, who he believes will take away his strength. He believes that then you all will be safe from him hurting you."

"By Toutatis..." Getafix breathed, his hands clutching each other in front of his chest with an intensity that made his knuckles white. His eyes held an almost haunted look, and he turned noticeably paler.

Asterix was a little more indignant. "I don't believe that!" he shouted angrily. "Obelix values his strength! He loves being able to make menhirs and catch wild boar, and fight Romans! He'd never give that up!" Then, slightly more quietly, he added a slight mutter. "He _knows_ we're not afraid of him hurting us..." He blinked down at his feet. Looking back up, he fixed Lycurgus with a firm glance. "His strength is what makes him who he is!" he finished strongly.

"More than you know, Asterix..."

Getafix's shaky voice broke into the warrior's rant, changing Asterix's anger to fear immediately. "W-What do you mean?" A feeling was growing deep inside of him. A familiar, sickening intuition, that told him things were far worse than he realized. That what Getafix was about to tell him would be bad. _Really_ bad.

Getafix was shaking slightly, more out of distress than fear. He swallowed hard, knowing that his next words would hit Asterix very hard. "Obelix's body has been reliant on the M-" He stopped, eyes flitting to the gathering of strangers to the Gauls' right, before changing his word choice and continuing. "He had been reliant on his _strength_ ever since he was little. It flows in his very veins, as it does with all of us, only in him I believe his blood contains more of it. Far more. If that were suddenly taken away..." Here came the blow. "Asterix...Obelix would die."

The little Gaul's brown eyes widened in absolute horror. His heart gave a violent twist, and that light inside of him, that he knew now so well, flickered in distress in an odd sense of pain. "We've got to stop him!" he cried. "He doesn't know what he's doing!"

"We'll leave at once," Getafix decided with finality. He had every intention of going along with Asterix. Firstly, because the little Gaul was injured; not to mention still struggling with certain events in the past, and secondly, he had a feeling his talents as a druid would be needed. Obelix was a kind-hearted, but spirited soul. He was almost as stubborn as he was round, and Getafix knew that solving this problem, or even making it there in time to stop it, would not be easy. But they needed to try. Obelix's life depended on it.

Asterix blinked in obvious surprise. "Getafix? But..."

"Don't look so surprised. I am more than capable of traveling when the need calls for it. And this certainly does." The druid's smile faltered into one of deep worry and concern. "Asterix, Abbadōn is a sorceress. She is _evil_. I don't know whether she has the power to take away Obelix's strength or not, but even if she tries, the damage will more than likely be irreversible." Those words sent chills down all the Gauls spines, and caused their hearts to drop like a cold lump in their stomachs.

"I understand," Asterix answered solemnly. "Let me grab a few supplies from my hut." His eyes saddened further. "If only we had Dogmatix. He would be able to help us follow Obelix's trail in no time."

"The dog is in Obelix's hut," Itylus spoke up, as unemotionally as possible. "He had wanted to join Obelix, but the big Gaul would not allow it. Obelix locked him in the store room of his cottage." The Gauls' reaction was simultaneous.

"WHAT?!"

The thought of Obelix doing such a thing seemed extremely out of place. None of them could imagine the large Gaul doing anything that would, in anyway, make Dogmatix unhappy. It just wasn't something Obelix would do. Of course, Obelix would never have run away either, under normal circumstances. Something was wrong with him, and that made him locking Dogmatix up slightly more believable.

"I'll go let him out!" Cacofonix cried, running off to do so without even checking to see if that was alright. He didn't need too. If he hadn't volunteered, someone else would have. The bard slipped and skidded off in the direction of the menhir deliveryman's hut, trying not to run too fast and induce yet another fit of coughing. The others watched him go a moment, before turning back to the conversation.

"I'll pack some food and water," Getafix agreed, already heading in the direction of his hut, his white robe blending in with the blank snow all around him. "The journey to Burdigala is long, and we don't know how long it will take us to catch up with Obelix."

"WAIT." Lycurgus's voice was loud and demanding; not a yell, but strong and intimidating enough to be one. The tall man stood forward, his followers watching him curiously, as the Gauls did so with more hesitation. "Itylus, my Right Hand, will accompany you on your journey. He is a remarkable tracker, and will lead you well." He motioned to Itylus, who stepped forward with a hint of confusion.

Asterix didn't really fancy the idea of taking one of these strangers along. He was stressed enough as it was. He was so tired now, and fed up with all the confusion, he was just about ready to stomp off and find Obelix himself, right there and then. "But this isn't your concern. Are you sure you'd be willing to do such a thing for someone you hardly know?" His eyes burned into Itylus's own, and the traveler felt all at once very uncomfortable, afraid that, somehow, Asterix would be able to see right through his lies.

"Obelix treated me well when I stayed with him," Itylus explained as honestly as he could under the circumstances. And it was true. Obelix had opened up his home to a stranger, which was quite a thing, especially when these Gauls knew nothing of their guests. It almost hurt, knowing that the Gauls were sadly mistaken in where they had put their trust. But it was too late now. Too late. "He is an honorable man, and I owe him my help." He glanced over at Lycurgus, who nodded ever so slightly in approval at his mask of dishonesty.

Asterix nodded, to much in a hurry to truly care. He just wanted to get started, before Obelix got too far ahead of them. It was taking his strongest metal restraint not to burst out in anger at the travelers for not telling them of their friend's departure sooner. But that couldn't be helped now. "Very well. Your help will be appreciated," he answered sincerely. Or, at least, as sincerely as he could manage. "Gather whatever you will need for travel, and then we'll set out." With that, the warrior ran off in the direction of his hut, to gather his own supplies. The Gauls and villagers shifted on their legs, awaiting the druid and warrior's return.

"My Lord," Itylus muttered lowly, quietly enough that the Gauls would not hear him, and with confusion written on his features. "Why have you arranged this so? Will not it just be easier to let the two fools leave? Then they would be out of the way, and the village would be ours." He said so with as much respect as he could muster, not wanting his words to bring about his leader's wrath.

Lycurgus nodded, not the least bit bothered by his inquiry. "No. There is always the chance that they may return. I am sending you to make sure they don't find their friend, nor return. Our plan is working out well. With the warrior and the druid gone, this village will be at our mercy. It is time to bring order to chaos, and perfection to the weak. Go, Itylus, and do not disappoint me." He lay a strong hand on the younger man's shoulder, causing Itylus cringe ever so slightly.

"Yes, My Lord."

* * *

Asterix ran into his hut so fast the door of his cottage was slammed open, hitting the broom he always kept behind it and knocking it to the floor. He didn't even consider taking the time to pick it up, instead stepping hurriedly over it into the warm interior of his cottage. He rushed purposefully across the well-packed dirt floor, making his way swiftly up the ladder to his loft. Which wasn't an easy task with one arm strapped tightly in a sling. He was keeping all his most valuable possessions up there at the moment, do to the guest he had been letting stay in his home. While he always tried to give people the benefit of the doubt, he had not wanted his things out in the open; especially those of major importance, like his sword and gourd of Magic Potion. He was not, for perhaps the first time in years, wearing his sword or potion. Due to the accident the day before, Asterix had been laid up in bed. He hadn't wanted them in Getafix's hut, out in plain sight, and so had given them to Vitalstitistix to bring to his hut. On the upper floor of his home, under a floorboard beneath his bed, was a small storage area that he had made himself. He kept all manner of things within it, as well as a number of extra weapons for emergencies. It was a safe, hidden spot, and only he, Getafix, Obelix, and the Chief knew where it was.

Kneeling down and removing the board as swiftly as possible with his uninjured hand, Asterix slid the heavy wood lid aside and reached down into the gape to pull out his sword and gourd of potion. He strapped both to his belt, feeling already more secure with their weight against his sides. He would most likely need them both. Having both at his side was something he had born since he had grown big enough to hold a weapon. Even to that day, he could barely explain how he had become village warrior. It had just sort of...happened. And since then, those two objects had been with him all over the known world. Maybe even beyond that. They were a part of him, and he treasured them dearly.

Needless to say, he was scared out of his wits this time though. It seemed to be where their enemies always seemed to hit him. His weak spot, which consisted of his home and friends; especially Obelix. Only this time, there was no enemy, not that he could see. It was just Obelix, going off and doing something stupid. Something that Asterix didn't understand. And it scared him badly. He felt guilty, wondering if, somehow, it was all his fault. Had he said something? Done something? He couldn't remember. But, whatever the reason for Obelix running away, Asterix was determined to fix it. He wanted to help, and bring his friend back safe and sound.

He was about to place the cover back over the opening, satisfied with what he had gotten, when something caught his attention, down inside, that made him freeze. Laying there, dusty and faded slightly, was a cloth, wrapped around something that he hadn't given much thought for a while now. After a moment of indicision, the Gaul reached down and gently lifted it out. He set it on the floor by his knees as he knelt, again pausing. Then, carefully, he unwrapped it.

A golden pin, an emblem of fine make and beauty, sat among the rag like a diamond among soot. It shown in the daylight coming through the window, dim as it was, twinkling up at him like a reminder of its significance. Intricate designs wove all over its surface, twists and knots of finely carved lines, not of any specific picture, but lovely all the same. Symbols that were distinctly Druidic were delicately carved on it's every angle, the whole thing small enough to fit in the palm of Asterix's hand. It brought back many emotions, ones he had nearly forgotten. It had been given to him by the Venerable Druid, that the elder said was the emblem of the Soul Light and that with it any druid he came upon would know who and what he was; a Solas Anam, and would give him whatever he needed.

Asterix had greatly treasured it, not only because it was a rare gift from the most honorable of druids, but had once beloved to Prolix, a druid who had possessed the same light that Asterix himself held. A druid who Mastix had murdered, near thirty-five years before. It was an honor, really, and Asterix had always thought of it as such. But it also held a great deal of sadness. Not his own sadness, but the sadness of a life lost...or, maybe, two. Mastix was yet another life lost, as evil as his existence had been. And Asterix had just not had a serious enough reason to carry it, or get by his initial feeling about it.

Now he held it in his hand, studying it, despite his prior urgency to leave. He couldn't think of any reason why he should bring it with him. Not one. But then, a sort of nagging was nudging him deep inside. It was a feeling he had come to trust and recognize, and not take the least bit lightly. With a deep breath, he closed his fingers around it, closing his hand into a firm fist.

He would take it with him.

Sliding the board back in place, Asterix carefully descended the ladder. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he was running again, back to the village square, grabbing his scarf and mittens off his table as he passed. He knew on this journey, he would need them. The air was frigid, but it couldn't possibly come anywhere close to his frigid terror and worry over his best friend's disappearance.

Asterix made his way back to the village center, taking in the many sad, frightened faces that watched him as he approached. He knew the other Gauls were afraid for Obelix, but that look gave him a sick feeling inside. They had lived in peace since Mastix. The look of fear that had been so permanently pasted in their expressions for all that time had just been beginning to fade. But now, something had taken place to make it flicker back to life. Like an ember reignited, that painful look of worry was back. He could see it in their eyes, in the very way they were standing. Asterix hated that look. He had hated it before, because it had always been him that those feeling existed for. This time was worse, because it was Obelix that was in danger now, not himself. And Asterix hated that far more.

Joining the crowd that had gathered in the center, not only of villagers, but also their guests, Asterix adjusted his sword absently. Getafix returned almost right after he had, carrying a sack of various things, food and such, though Asterix suspected that he had also grabbed a few potions or powders. Giving his friend a nervous smile, that really held no humor, Asterix steeled himself for the journey. "You ready?"

"Just about," Getafix replied, checking the content of his sack once more. It wouldn't do to leave and find he had forgotten something. Once they had gone, there would not be time to come back for any neglected items. The druid was feeling rather shaky. He had not left the village since his trip to the Carnutes five months before. Since then, he had been happy and content to stay in the village. Maybe even, in a sense, he had been hiding there. He had never given that fact much thought. He hadn't needed to. But now, preparing to go, he felt a heavy reluctance settle in his heart. A reluctance that he was certain had never been there before. But Obelix was in trouble. And that was worth going against any hesitation.

Getafix may have got frustrated with Obelix from time to time, but he cared for the Gaul deeply. Ever since he had first seen the little, plumb fellow, Obelix had given him many enduring reasons to chuckle. As well as scaring the daylights out of him. The day that Obelix had fallen into the Magic Potion had been, perhaps, one of the most frightening moments of the druid's life. He had had no idea how the boy would be affected. He had never tested it on one so young, in fact, even to that day Getafix only let children drink it during emergencies. It was far too strong for young ones, as Obelix's incident had shown. The druid still regretted not closing the door to his hut more securely back then, believing that, had he done so, Obelix would not have wandered inside and fallen into the cauldron. But that was all far in the past. Obelix had done just fine, up until now. In fact, his strength had become a kind of saving grace in many instances. Why Obelix would wish to be relieved of all that was beyond Getafix's understanding, and he intended to find the large Gaul and find out himself, before Obelix did something he would deeply regret.

That they would all deeply regret.

A sharp barking filled the air, and everyone turned as a small, white dog charged into the village center, yipping and sliding all over the place. Cacofonix was right behind him, trying to catch the pup, but not doing very well in that respect. "Dogmatix, no! No, no! Come!" He ended up coughing, coming to a halt until the fit passed. By that time, Dogmatix had found his way to Asterix, yapping and barking urgently.

Asterix picked the small animal up, his heart aching at the sight of the little one without his master. He soothed the pup carefully, trying to get him to stay in his arms rather than jump back down to the snow. "Dogmatix, come on, boy. We have to find Obelix. Please, calm down." He pet his hand through the pure white fur, talking softly.

Asterix's gentle voice seemed to work on the dog, and his barking calmed considerably. Sniffing the air, Dogmatix struggled to catch any scent of Obelix, whether it be on the wind or anywhere nearby. Asterix set the pup back down, allowing him to walk to and fro, smelling left and right, tale held high as he searched carefully for any sign of his beloved master. All at once, Dogmatix started off, running several feet before stopping and looking back at them with a sharp, commanding bark.

"He's already on the trail!" Unhygienix shouted excitedly.

Lycurgus nodded in approval, eyeing the small creature. "He is well trained to the scent. He also will lead you well. Itylus will pick up the trail when the dog cannot." He turned an eye to his second, indicating with a harsh glare that there would be no argument. Itylus, a small satchel over one shoulder, stepped forward, joining Getafix and Asterix, dwarfing them with his stature. Dogmatix gave him a warning growl, but no one else noticed.

Asterix shook Vitalstitistix's hand, pumping it with more enthusiasm than he truly felt. "We'll be back as soon as we find him," he promised, sharing a look of worry that only the other Gauls could understand. They all knew how close Asterix and Obelix were. They had seen the pain Asterix's situation with Mastix had caused the large Gaul, and now, even though he was hiding it well, they could see that same pain reflected in Asterix.

The Chieftain gave a firm, encouraging nod, looking Asterix right in the eyes. He held the smaller man's gaze worriedly, holding his hand a fraction of a second longer, trying to reassure him. "Be careful."

Asterix nodded. Adjusting his sling a little more comfortably, he turned, giving his friends a smile that was only half of what it had always been. He was terrified for Obelix, but he was also worried for them. His eyes wandered over to the group of travelers, watching from the sidelines. He knew that they couldn't possibly understand what this was like for them. They didn't understand the deep relationship all the Gauls shared. The visitors were different; almost aloof of each other's needs, even among themselves. But that wasn't why he didn't trust them. He didn't trust them because of Lycurgus. The way the man was watching him intently, even if Asterix didn't know why. Maybe that was just the man's way. But, just to be safe, he shook Fulliautomatix's hand as he passed, whispering that the blacksmith not give the visitors back their weapons until he or Vitalstitistix said otherwise. Fulliautomatix's eyes had flitted in the travelers direction, before returning to Asterix with a nod. He understood. Getafix, likewise, managed to slip it to Vitalstitistix that he had left them some Magic Potion, hidden in the back room of his hut. That made the chieftain feel far more prepared.

Shouldering what they were bringing with them, Getafix, Asterix, and Itylus left through the gates, led by little Dogmatix, and a crowd of waving villagers behind them, calling encouragement and warnings to remain on the trail.

"Stay safe!"

"Don't get too cold!"

"Tell Obelix we miss him! And that we want him back!"

"Eh?! Where are _they_ go'n?!"

"Shh! Just wave."

Behind them all, away from the calls and shouts of the villagers, Lycurgus and his followers stood watching in silence. Arms crossed over his chest, the leader seemed to smile, even though it couldn't quite be called one. His eyes roved over the village, now void of its warrior and its druid. His deep voice rumbled low, so only those of his kind could hear.

"The time...is right."

* * *

 **Whew! I had a terrible time getting in the writing mood for this, and I have no idea why! I guess it's because I'm so tired...But I think the inspiration is coming back again, so no worries ;)**

 **Please keep my grandfather in your prayers, he is in the hospital, in urgent care, all day today and yesterday. He had water on his lungs and he needed something called dialysis done to him. They said he was in really bad shape, but he's doing a little better now. I'm very worried so, please, any prayer would be wonderful. Thank you.**


	11. On the Run

The wind whipped the snow through the treetops above Obelix's head, bending them low. He ducked whenever a branch swept down, worried that it should hit him. Not that it really mattered. He could take it. There had been many times that he had been hit over the head in the past, and, to tell the truth, he had barely noticed. Whether it was some accident, or whether someone was purposefully trying to get one over him, it had had little to no effect. His strength protected him from any such assaults. It was good in a way, and he knew that. He had seen others less fortunate than him in that respect suffer from hits to the head. Asterix had been knocked out that way on more than one occasion, once at the large Gaul's own hand, much to Obelix's shame. In a village where fights were common, it seemed there was always someone nursing a headache. Never anything severe, but certainly no less annoying and bothersome. Obelix was glad he was not ever bothered by such small ailments. He only wished his mind and heart were just as durable.

Right now though he had never felt so down in all his life. His heart felt heavy, and, almost in a sense, sore. Achy. It was as though his very spirit had been beaten and left for dead. He felt as though he were stuck in a dark pit, with slippery sides that he couldn't quite climb out of. It frightened him, but not nearly as much as he frightened himself. And he wasn't even sure if it was a tangible fear or not, it just seemed to fill him. Stick to him like deep, dark mud. He trudged through the deep snow that had not yet been trampled by anyone since the last snowfall, his mind running in tiring circles. His mood was dark, even more so because of an event that had taken place the night before.

Only a few hours after he had abruptly left the village, and only halfway through the surrounding village, he had come across a wandering Roman patrol. From Aquarium, by the looks of them. The Gauls had not had much trouble with the soldiers for a while now, do to the cold winter. Not that the Romans needed much of an excuse to stay away from the Gauls, whom they feared so greatly. In fact, the Gauls had heard nothing of them for the last several months, ever since Cacofonix had been captured by them, and then released when he had told them of Mastix. That in and of itself had been a blessing. Had the Romans not done so, the bard would have been sent to Rome for sure. And the Gauls would have been unable to help him.

But that hadn't happened, and the Gauls had been very grateful that it hadn't. As a sort of thank you, the villagers had not bothered the Romans either, too occupied with recovering from Mastix's hand. But, by this point, Obelix had been feeling in the need for some form of pleasure. His eyes had lit up at the sight of the patrol, though his adversaries visibly paled, clumping together in the snow and backing up against a large oak, shaking so hard their armor rattled loudly throughout the forest. With a yelp of enthusiasm, Obelix had run forward, stomping forward toward the quivering clump, which had tried to take to their heels. Laughing, he had chased them, their speed no where near his match. He had caught up with them, ready to give them a good bashing...when he had all at once froze in mid-swing.

His eyes had taken in the shivering forms of the Romans, their bodies braced against each other and eyes shut tight in terror, praying that somehow they could escape the beating. Obelix, for some reason, had never noticed this before. It had always just been a sort of game. After all, he had been doing it since he was old enough to leave without his hand held in another's. It had always been fun. Always a tradition, all while solving the problem and threat the Romans posed to all Gauls. He had never noticed the raw terror his presence produced, just by looking them in the eyes. They acted like...like he might kill them. Which was ridiculous. He never hurt them beyond bruises and a few missing teeth. But this fear, it was one that spoke of true terror. They really thought that he might kill them, and that scared Obelix more than anything else. Suddenly, his pleasure hadn't seemed so much like a game anymore, but more of another image of what he was. A monster. And these men were afraid of him. No, they were horrified of him. Lycurgus's description had come back to him, causing him to cringe at what these men viewed him as. A Gaul capable of hurting them. Killing them. A Gaul that they feared more than any other.

His mind had wandered back to all the times he had used his strength. All the times someone had cowered before him. He didn't understand it. He wasn't a cruel man, he never had been. In fact, he had been considered the most kind-hearted individual most people had ever known. He was child-like, and he knew it. And he was perfectly happy that way. Or, at least, he always had been before. He had simply been protecting his home and his friends, enjoying it as he did so. But now, he just felt sick about it. With a deep, painful sigh, he had simply turned and continued on his way, a jumble of confused and relieved Romans watching him go. To their shock, they finally realized he was letting them go, and they scrambled over one another to disappear back toward their camp as swiftly as possible, looking over their shoulders as though he might change his mind at any moment.

And that was why Obelix was so down now. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get those frightened faces out of his mind. He could picture them in the expressions of his friends back at the village. He could imagine their fear of him, standing huddled away from him, cowering. He could just feel the terror coming off of them in waves, so clearly that he felt that he actually had seen them like that before, when, in fact, he never had. He thought back to instances throughout his life, his dark thoughts building ideas and warping memories to conform to his own, gnawing fear. Even if he had never really seen the other Gauls recoil from him, he was so confused by this point, he almost believed it. Lycurgus's words were like poison, whether the large Gaul realized it or not, and that poison was taking over, consuming him.

It made him slip further and further into despair, filling his heart with a heavy, stone-like sorrow. It sat in the pit of his stomach like a boulder, cold and hard. His thoughts were in a permanent loop, making matters worse with each pass. He walked through the forest, leaving deep imprints in the fresh-fallen snow, not caring really where his feet would take him. He'd come to somewhere sometime, and then he would worry about it. For now, he would just walk.

And walk he did. He moved at a fast, distracted pace. He really didn't have an idea as to whether he was headed in the right direction, getting away from his village being the only thing that really mattered to him at the moment. He wanted to put as much distance behind him as possible before Asterix found out he was missing. Obelix knew he wasn't always the sharpest chisel in the quarry, but he did understand that Asterix would be worried about him. He didn't want him to, but Obelix knew he would. Asterix would come after him, he was sure of it, and he didn't want that either. He didn't want to hurt his best friend again. He couldn't stand to. He wanted to get himself back to normal first. _Normal_ normal. What he had been as a little boy, before he had fallen in the Magic Potion. He wanted to be harmless, like the others. He wanted to be able to walk among them without them being afraid of falling on and crushing them.

He marched determinedly through the forests, one leading to another. The woods became unfamiliar, and, he couldn't help admitting, a little frightening. For such a big fellow, he didn't like being alone. In fact, he had never really been alone. Asterix, at least, was always by his side. Always had been, and, he hoped, always would be. But not until he saw this...this woman in Burdigala. Then Asterix would never be hurt by him again. Then Asterix would forgive him for crushing his arm. Asterix would be proud of him then. They all would be. All he wanted was to do what he believed was right. And this...This was right. Right?

Right.

He walked onward, all through the night and into the next day. His pace steady and determined, he simply trampled any brush in his way, moving ever forward. His eyes not really focused on anything, other than his own thoughts. And he remained like that until the subtle differences around him became far more noticeable. For one thing, the trees had gotten smaller, more like those by his home village. Trees, he had learned, always tended to grow smaller by the seaside, though he had no idea why. Asterix probably would have known. But Asterix wasn't here...Obelix pushed that from his mind.

Other things started to catch his attention. The air became less like woods and bushes, and more like salt water and fresh, windy breeze. The atmosphere seemed even colder, and Obelix knew at once that he must be nearing the sea once more. It made everything far more chilly, and even he couldn't help thinking of the comfort of a warm hearth and fire. He reached the crest of a small hill, his assumptions being instantly confirmed.

Stretching out below him lay what had once been the impressive buildings of a Gaulish people. He recognized the make and design as those of his people. But something wasn't quite right. While the building were mostly covered in snow, he could still make out odd, twisted shapes, that looked like they might have once been homes, and walls. Strongholds. In fact, the longer Obelix looked at it, the more disturbingly uneasy he became. He was quite an expert on chaos, having caused it in a number of Roman camps over the years. He knew what it looked like, and this seaside town was marked with it. Marked with destruction. Marked by, what appeared to have been, war.

People still milled about in the streets, and as Obelix entered, cautious and eyes ever looking out for trouble, it became more and more apparent that something devastating had happened here, and not all that long ago. At least a few years. The town hugged the shoreline, ice and snow and structures checkering all the way to nearly the water's edge and, beyond that, there was nothing but open sea.

Curious, Obelix followed the trickling flow of people, finding himself in a sort of market. But not a healthy, bustling market, but more of a cold, struggling, pitiful market, where the few vendors seemed bent with age and sorrow. They were of Gaulish culture, Obelix could tell, but there were so few of them. So very few for a settlement of this size. It made a lump form in his throat, even though Obelix had no idea why. It was as though their sorrow and pain, whatever it may be, somehow encroached upon his own. He could feel it in the air. Just like the memories of Mastix still hung over his own village sometimes. Something hung over this place. Something that had not ended well.

Obelix gazed at the various vendors, selling their wares despite the cold of winter. There was fish, bread, cheese, and all manner of odd seafood that Unhygienix had never sold back home. Some of it was rather sickening looking, but the other, more recognizable foods looked delicious. Obelix's wide girth gave an insistent gurgle, followed by a growl that caught the attention of a few passerbys, who gave him a glance of either surprise or revulsion, before continuing on their sad and slowly paced ways. Obelix turned slightly pink in embarrassment, patting his gut as though that would sooth it into silence.

In all honesty, he was starting to feel rather ill. He knew he wasn't sick, for he recognized the feeling. He only felt this way whenever his body was telling him he needed food. And it was telling him he needed it n _ow_. It was a strange thing that had always happened, ever since he had fallen in the Magic Potion. If he didn't eat, he'd start to feel rather unwell, followed by dizziness, and then an odd, unresponsive sleep. He had only passed that line a few times, but it hadn't been good. Asterix, after discovering the strange condition, usually made sure that his best friend never had it happen again. And Obelix appreciated that, but now he didn't have anyone looking out for him. He would have to do that himself. And, unless he wanted to be in big trouble, he knew he needed to find something to eat, and soon.

But he also knew that he had no money. Unlike some other places in Gaul, especially the parts overrun by Romans, money was commonplace. But, in his village, they usually just traded for what they needed, unless they were dealing with outsiders or visitors. Then they might use a few coins they had in reserve, but on a day to day basis they had found no need for it. What was the point of passing the money back and forth? It never got them anywhere. And so, trading had just become a way of life for them. But here, Obelix was pretty sure money was more important. And he didn't have even one coin to his name.

He also knew that he needed some way to get to Burdigala from there. And he had no idea as to how to go about it. He wasn't even sure where he was. And so he just stood there, feet planted in the trampled snow of the street, a few vendors watching him incredulously. Obelix felt unsure of what he should do know, having not really thought the whole journey out in advance.

"Kinda cold to be walking around like that, mate; don't ya think?"

Obelix turned with surprise, finding a large, burly man shuffling by, weighed down by the load of a large barrel. Obelix recognized the man's accent as a fellow from Britain. He remembered the adventures he and Asterix had had there fondly, before he again pushed all thoughts of his friend aside.

Obelix looked down at his clothes, realizing that, like always, his upper chest and shoulders were bare. He also realized that, to those who didn't know him, this might appear rather odd, especially in the middle of winter. "I don't get cold all that easy," he explained, thinking that the man would simply take his words and then leave on his way. But, instead, the man set down his load, leaning on the barrel and looking up at him curiously. While strongly built, Obelix still towered over him.

"Hmm, wish I could say the same," the man shivered, his mustache quivering with the motion. "Blooming weather's near gone and frozen my very bones." He stretched his back with a wince looking down at the barrel beneath him with a bit of frustration, but he then shifted the gaze, which turned rather hopeful, to Obelix. "How would you like to earn a few coins and help me load this here cargo on my ship?"

Out of habit, Obelix thought of what Asterix would have asked in this situation. "How much?"

"A few Denarius. S'about all I can afford anyone these days." He gave a start when Obelix's stomach growled insistently. "You're hungry. If you give me a hand, I'll give you a good, shipboard meal, how does that sound?"

Obelix was too hungry at this point to care. His vision was starting to get a little funny, and his stomach was grumbling very loudly. He nodded, taking the offer at once.

The man nodded approvingly. "Alright, Lad, just take one of these and -good Hills of Saxony!" he exclaimed, stumbling back in shock as Obelix lifted two barrels effortlessly onto his broad shoulders. "Those weigh a good fifty pounds each! How do you do that, Lad?!" His eyes were wide, and, for a moment, Obelix almost mistook it for fear. But his words resonated curiosity and awe.

"I-I'm just...very strong," Obelix stuttered in explanation. "I can take them all at once if you want." It was an innocent offer, and he really was in a hurry to get something to eat.

Mouth hanging slack, the man finally managed to get his voice to work. "Yes... Yes, that will be...fine. Thank you, Lad."

Obelix obliged, trying to ignore the wide-eyed looks of those around him. He had never been so subconscious about this sort of thing before. In fact, he had always felt a sort of pride in it. But now, he felt almost ashamed. He balanced four barrels, two under each arm, leaving only one for the ship-man, who Obelix quickly learned was named Volumetrix, and found that he not only worked aboard a merchant ship, but was its captain. They made their way through the streets to the ship, which sat in port, rolling gently with the tides. They walked up the causeway board that ran from the shore onto the deck, where they set down the barrels with loud, resounding thunks of wood against wood.

Obelix scratched the back of his neck, with a hum of embarrassment. "Um...Would you mind telling me where I am?"

Volumetrix gave him a curious glance, shifting the barrels toward a few of his crewmen so they could be stored below. Then he turned to Obelix fully. "Hmm. Lad, I think it would be more accurate to ask where this place used to be." He gave the town onshore a sad shake of his head. "This, only a short few years ago, was the great, Gaulish people of Veneti."

Obelix followed his gaze, then turned back questioningly. "It no longer is?"

"No." The sailor rubbed a sleeve beneath his nose with a sniff. "No, Lad, it is no more. Caesar made sure of that. There was a great battle, you know. On the sea. Ships fighting ships, the wind in their leather sails and the creaking of powerful decks beneath their feet. They were able to run circles around Caesar's fleet, you take my word for it. It was quite the sight." The pride in his voice died at once. "But, alas, it was not to end well. Eventually, the Romans came up with their own strategies...and the Gauls of Veneti could not fight back any longer. They came, and they conquered this city. Those of any position were murdered, and the rest...well, most of the rest, were forced away into slavery in Rome. This is all that's left." He gestured to the snow bound streets and buildings. "A hollow city, haunted by the ghosts of its few survivors."

"That's...terrible." Obelix couldn't even imagine. All his life he had lived in a village that the Romans just couldn't beat. They were so blessed, and yet, they sometimes forgot that the rest of the Gauls had not been so lucky. They sometimes forgot that they were the last village standing against Caesar's might. That they were the last of their people to be any threat of opposition against Rome. The others...simply hadn't made it. And Veneti, this place of sadness and desolation, was only one example of that.

Volumetrix nodded slowly, eyes still facing the shore. "Indeed. Those of us here today are simply picking up what shipments we can still make. A few people still like here, mostly merchants of other peoples from other places. I have not seem a Gaul here in Veneti for many weeks...until you showed up." He turned curious eyes back to the Gaul, his very gaze asking for an explanation. But, for some reason, Obelix didn't really want to.

"You have a ship...Where are you headed, back to Britain?"

"No, no. I head Southward first. Make a few more stops down that way. Before I head back North and homeward."

Obelix looked down at the deck. He had an idea forming in his mind, something that was rather rare for him. Asterix was usually the one who did the thinking on their missions and adventures. Something Obelix sorely missed, but buried deep and away. "Is there any way that I might get a ride to Burdigala? If I work here on the ship as payment for the trip?"

Volumetrix rubbed his chin thoughtfully. I don't see why I can't give you passage, if you're that willing to work for it. A man of your strength could be very useful." He paused. "But, Burdigala? Hmm, that's quite a ways from here, Lad. Quite a ways, not to mention that it's further inland rather than on the coast. But, eh, I could take you as far as the next port, a place by the name of Namnetes," the tubby man offered, pulling the gang plank up over the side with a grunt. Obelix gave a hand and soon the large board was stowed and out of the way. The captain mopped his brow with his tattered sleeve. "Namnetes is not far from here, but still, sadly, a long distance from Burdigala, but it's closer than here. I'd take you closer, but ice tends to freeze the water further down that way this time of year. Only way of getting around it is by heading out to deeper waters, which I wouldn't recommend to anyone at this time of the season. Far too dangerous."

Obelix nodded in understanding. "Namnetes is fine. Is it a big place?"

"Mildly so. S'got a pretty good port, and a market, but only by the waterside." The captain started giving orders to his crew, preparing to set sail. "Rest of the place kind of spreads out into the country."

Again Obelix nodded. At least it was somewhere. Traveling by boat would definitely throw off anyone who might be on his trail. He felt a slight twinge of regret at that thought. In one way, he wished very much to be found. But, in another way, he wished very much not to be. He longed for a familiar face, and yet refused that possibility. He would not change his mind, weakly turning back and heading home, like he might have under normal circumstances. But he didn't want to put anyone in danger. His hope must lay with Abbadōn in Burdigala. Getafix had tried on more than one occasion to rid Obelix of the power of the Magic Potion, back when he had first gained it. The druid had worked hard, trying various powders and potions, to no avail, and then, quite suddenly, he had stopped trying altogether. Obelix, to that day, had no idea why. Obelix had all the faith in the world in Getafix's abilities as a druid. Had he continued experimenting, Obelix was certain the druid would have found an answer to the problem. But Getafix had stopped.

By then, Obelix had actually grown accustomed to his strength, and was not the least bit sorry that it should be permanent. It was tough at first, and there were several instances where trouble ensued because he didn't know his own strength. But, in light of it all, Obelix had enjoyed being bigger and stronger than his companions. He had always loved delivering menhirs, chasing wild boar, and everything else his strength and speed lent to his life. But now it felt all empty and useless. He couldn't wait to get to Burdigala. With the curse gone, he would be normal again. Then everything would be better. Everything would be fixed.

"Set sail!" Volumetrix bellowed, moving to take his place, and others rushed to do the same. The large ship creaked under the strain of moving from a dead standstill, sounding as though it would fall apart. But it didn't, and, a moment later, the wind filled the sails and it lurched forward into a steady motion upon the waves, turning out to sea.

With a deep sigh, Obelix glanced back toward the shore as they pulled away from the port. He looked toward home, even though it was too far away to even see anymore. And then, feeling very much alone, he turned away, eyes facing the journey ahead.

* * *

 **Whee! I learned a lot of history in this chapter. The people of Veneti lived in a pretty neat place in its day; consisting of a people of seafaring celtics in Amorica. They were a people of amazing sailing skill and knowledge. But then, in Caesar's time, Rome forced Veneti to conform to their rule, even going as far as to force them to hand over hostages to Caesar. But then, in 56 BC (the year Asterix turned 30) the people of Veneti took several Roman soldiers prisoner, as a way to try and force Caesar to give them back their people he had taken hostage. Angry, Caesar went to war against them. The Gauls of Veneti fought hard, and, due to their fantastic fleet, the Romans found them very challenging to conquer. But, sadly, with Roman ingenuity, they finally came up with a way to overcome the Gauls, and the Romans won in the Battle of Morbihan. The defeated Gauls of Veneti were defeated, all those of importance killed, and the rest sold into slavery.**

 **Surely, not all the Gauls in Asterix's time were as fortunate as our friends in the village.**

 **I am so sorry that all through this story the posts have been so far apart. I am endeavoring to try and speed it up a little, but we shall see. ;) School's been keeping me very busy. :) Thank you all for your patience, and your faithful reading of this story. As always, it means so much to me. ;D**


	12. Taken

Asterix moved quickly, at as fast a pace as his short legs would allow. The wind was cold, and terribly strong, having picked up since they had left the village, and it whipped ice crystals through the trees and across the ground, blowing them into his face and making his nose cold and stuffy. Behind him, moving at only a slightly less determined march, was Getafix. His beard flapping in the wind over his shoulder, he squinted ahead through the face prickling wind to watch Asterix struggling through the fresh-fallen snow.

It had fallen only shortly after leaving the safety of the village's wall, which was a good two hours behind them. The druid had taken to carrying Dogmatix, finding that his abundance of facial hair actually served in keeping the pup warm. Beside him, walking with a gleam of defiance in his eyes against the rising weather, strode Itylus. The man, as usual, didn't seem bothered by the cold, so much as he was bothered by the wind, which was making it hard to see. So hard, in fact, that anything beyond twelve yards in front of them was nothing but a hazy sheet of shifting white.

Getafix shivered, wishing that he could be so easily unaffected by the frigid air. His robes, which blended in with the pure color of the snow, was made of thick wool, and were long-sleeved, which helped. Which was more than the druid could say for Asterix, who, despite having a scarf and mittens, always wore his sleeveless, black tunic. It was all Asterix owned, and all he had ever really been comfortable with. Mrs. Geriatrix had once tried making him something a little more seasonal, but Asterix had said it had restricted his movements too much. Sleeves made it harder for him to be quick, which, in the young warrior's mind, was essential to his occupation. And so, even during the coldest days of winter, Asterix wore the same thing he would have worn in the middle of summer, and vice versa, much to Getafix's frustration. But many of the Gauls were like that, so it was something that the druid had learned to accept as just another quirk of his closest friends.

They traipsed through the forest, bracing against the wind, feet soaked and cold, though not to the point of being dangerous yet. However, Getafix was concerned for Asterix's arm. The small man had just broken it. Not just fractually either, but in a way that was more a wound. It had broken the skin, which meant there was always a chance of infection. Not to mention that Asterix had lost a fair amount of blood. Enough to make the druid nervous. And so, even as they struggled forward, Getafix kept one eye on his friend, watching him for any signs of distress.

Asterix tried to rub his arm inconspicuously. He didn't want Getafix worrying, which he was absolutely sure he was doing. He could feel his friend's eyes upon him, watching. It made Asterix want to chuckle and sigh in frustration all at the same time. Getafix was a father figure to many of the Gauls, including Asterix. Had been for years, even when he was little and had had his real father around. Getafix had always looked out for him and the others, and Asterix had seen that to the extreme when Getafix had used every ounce of his strength to protect them from Mastix. Even when he had had nothing else to give, the druid had given more. It was a side to Getafix the Gauls had never seen before, and their love and respect for him had only grown as a result. But sometimes the worry got on Asterix's nerves. He wasn't a child, and he could take care of himself...for the most part. And he sometimes felt as thought Getafix forgot that.

Suddenly, Asterix stopped, pulling up short, his head tilted as he struggled to listen beyond the whipping wind. Getafix and Itylus came up behind him, watching the Gaul curiously. But it was Getafix who posed the question.

"Asterix? What's wrong?"

Asterix breathed as lightly as possible, trying to cut down on the cacophony around him. But he couldn't ignore a question from his village druid, and so, out of respect, he answered. "I thought I heard something."

Itylus raised a curious eyebrow. "An animal?"

"No." Asterix shook his head. "Stay here, I'll take a look." With that, he moved forward until the hazy shield of snowy atmosphere hid him from view of the others.

Itylus looked to Getafix questioningly, half expecting the man to call out and stop the little warrior. The traveler simply couldn't understand these people. They lived without fear of the Romans, or so it seemed, and yet here they were in the heart of Caesar's conquest. They were practically surrounded by the enemy, and yet, the enemy did not attack. At least, not since Itylus had arrived. And the village showed no signs of destruction or war. It just didn't add up. And what didn't add up even more was the villagers' trust in the little warrior. The Gaul was so short, so weak-looking. Itylus could have bet that he could lift the fellow with one hand without effort. And yet, the villagers seemed to hang on his every word. He held authority in the village, even though he wasn't even half as tall as most of them. And now here was Getafix, a druid, standing in the cold snow, waiting, while the little Gaul went ahead to check for danger.

Itylus just didn't understand.

* * *

Asterix waited until he was further into the forest, and out of sight of his companions, before he unhitched his gourd of Magic Potion from his side and uncapped it. He held tight to the container, his hands slippery with the mittens he was wearing. The gourd was warm, even through the material, Getafix's potion having always held that magical warmth. Taking a final glance behind him, to make sure that Itylus would not be able to see, Asterix lifted the opening to his lips and took a careful swallow. It only ever took a little Magic Potion to get a job done, and Asterix always used his supply in reserve.

Instantly, he felt that familiar energy course through him. It made his heart jump slightly, a boost of adrenaline warming him inside and out. That golden light he new so well seemed to shine from within him, filling the clearing with a flash of color. He vaguely hoped that it hadn't been too visible from afar. It would be bad if Itylus started asking questions, the blond Gaul still not fully trusting Lycurgus and his followers. A moment later, the glow disappeared, and Asterix took a deep breath, feeling the strength the Magic Potion empowered him with coursing through every vein in his body. It was hard to imagine, but Asterix had always figured that was how Obelix felt all the time. No wonder it was so hard for him to feel cold, or tire out. If that same warmth and energy coursed through him in an endless cycle, then that explained a lot about his friend.

Now equipped for virtually anything, Asterix crept forward, listening intently for the sounds he had heard before. Slipping silently through the forest, he picked it up once more; a sort of stomping noise that, in all honesty, he recognized at once. It was a Roman patrol, walking in step through the padded snow and ice. A few more hurried steps, and Asterix could see them.

They appeared nervous, eyes flitting from side to side as they marched toward him. Knowing he had nothing to fear, Asterix stepped out into plain view, and knowing that the reaction would be immediate.

And it was.

With shrieks of terror, the soldiers broke formation, eyes wide with terror. Like a shot, several ran off to the right, some to the left, and a few toward the way they had come. But one soldier, obviously a new recruit, stood his ground, looking about in confusion by his fellow Romans' reaction to such a small, native Gaul.

The fellow glanced about for a moment at his retreating friends, before turning toward Asterix with a cruel smile, thinking that it was his chance to prove his worth to his patrol, and maybe even Caesar. Asterix almost felt bad. To be so excited, only to have those dreams dashed. But this was important, and Asterix pushed his thoughts on the matter aside. Readying his spear, the Roman charged at him with a mighty battle cry...which was quickly cut short when the Gaul grabbed the weapon and deftly snapped it in two with one twist of his wrist. A small hand found its way to the front of the soldier's uniform, gripping firmly, leaving the Roman surprised when he found he could not escape the small man's grasp, no matter how hard he tried.

"Sorry to bother you," Asterix addressed politely. He positioned the soldier so they were a little closer in height. "Have you seen a...large Gaul come through this way, sometime between now and a few days past?" He refrained from calling Obelix fat, years of learning by experience having finally become a habit. His tone was kind, but stern, showing that he was really only being civil because he was trying to be.

The Roman swallowed nervously, feeling his gulp momentarily tighten the fabric around his neck before continuing downward. He stared in fright into the brown eyes only several inches from his own, his pride still whispering lies of victory over the blond Gaul, but common sense winning out over it. "I-I h-haven't seen h-him..." He flinched, as though he thought the Gaul would hit him for that. But when Asterix didn't, the Roman carefully continued, a little more confidence in his voice. "But one of the other patrols reported to our Centurion last night that they did...They all seemed surprised that they had gotten away without being..." He gulped again. "B-Beaten up."

Asterix cocked his head to the side, concerned confusion slipping into his expression. "You mean...they weren't?"

The Roman shook his head slightly, finding that the Gaul's hand was holding the material of his tunic just a bit tighter, subconsciously. "N-No...They s-said he let them go!"

Asterix's eyes opened wide in alarm. Never, ever, in Obelix's life, had the large Gaul ever missed out on an opportunity to teach the Romans a lesson. Never had he ever given up the chance for a good punch up with their invasive neighbors. In fact, usually, he was almost impossible to stop. Asterix could think of quite a few times where he had had to place himself between his over enthused friend and a cowering mass of the enemy. Why depended on the circumstances. Asterix was a strategist, he only fought when there was a need for it. He never even joined the brawls in the village unless it was truly necessary, which was hardly ever. He just wasn't one to enjoy a fight all that much. Obelix, on the other hand, always enjoyed a good brawl. It was all a game to him, and, in his innocence, he made sure it stayed that way. He never hurt the Romans badly; none of the Gauls did. There was no need for it. Most of the soldiers in Caesar's army were forced to fight them, and it just didn't seem fair that they should be harmed beyond a few bruises. Caesar was the enemy. A country is led by its leader. Not all Romans were bad. In fact, the Gauls had befriended a few in the past. But that didn't stop them from repeatedly sending Caesar the message that they would not be giving up any time soon, by forcing him to replace troop after beat up troop.

But for Obelix to give that all up, and just let the Romans go...It proved that something was terribly wrong. Terribly, _terribly_ wrong. And Asterix was bound and determined to find out what that was. No matter what.

"Which way did he go?" Asterix's stern glare and threatening snarl convinced the Roman, without a though of being a traitor to his camp, to obey and answer. Even if this Gaul was the enemy, some things just weren't worth being beat up over.

"D-due South!"

Asterix's eyes narrowed, gazing in that direction before glaring back at the Roman. "Are you sure?"

The soldier was dissolving into tears now, having learned his lesson of the Gauls the hard way. "Listen, please! I wasn't even o-on the patrol that came across your f-friend! All I can tell you is what I h-heard! And that's that he headed Southward!" His eyes gazed into Asterix's in a pleading manner, and it was all Asterix could do not to look pitying. He had a very soft heart, even for his enemies...Well, some of them. This Roman, as of yet, had not hurt any of his friends. Nor, as a new recruit, had he even tried, other then his useless show of backbone with Asterix.

The blond Gaul nodded slowly, releasing the Roman with a slight push. Not enough to hurt, but enough to warn. The soldier stood before him, or, now, more like above him, knees knocking and wrinkled clothes still tugged in the shape of the Gaul's fist. Asterix fixed the Roman with a low growl. "I am letting you go, but know this. The next time we cross paths, because you are laying attack to my people, I will not be so merciful." He sounded a lot more ruthless than he really was, but it got the job done. The Roman nodded like a lunatic, so vigorously Asterix feared his head would fall off. And then the soldier was off, bounding away like a scared rabbit, leaving Asterix alone.

* * *

Getafix shifted his feet in the snow, beginning to feel a little impatient. He knew Asterix could take care of himself. He knew. But that never kept him from worrying. After the nearly unstoppable spells of Mastix, Getafix had learned that none of the 'indomitable Gauls' were completely indomitable. They could still be hurt. They could still be killed. In fact, modesty aside, without his Magic Potion, they very well might have been hurt or dead long before this time. And, sometimes, that just scared Getafix. That his little concoction held so much weight on the survival of an entire village, and, in a way, an entire people, was sometimes an overwhelming thought. In this time of Caesar's reign, many of the other tribes of Gaul had lost all hope after the defeat of Vercingetorix. Their last, standing village was a sort of symbol; a promise, that the battle wasn't over yet. That, no matter how bleak things seemed, there was always hope.

That was a lot of responsibility.

Dogmatix, who was still sitting in the druid's hands, gave a light bark, tail wagging as his ears stood up on end. Getafix felt relief wash over him, knowing by the pup's reaction that it was Asterix. A moment later, the short Gaul strode into view, struggling to make his way back to his companions without slipping. Itylus raised an eyebrow again, noticing that something was slightly different about the fellow. He couldn't quite place it, but it _was_ there.

Asterix came to stand beside Getafix, pointing with a mittened hand toward the South. "Obelix went this way about a day ago." His eyes told of his urgency to continue, showing the determination he still felt about reaching his friend before any harm came to Obelix.

Itylus gave a huff, almost in a scoffing tone. "And how do you know this?" He eyed the short Gaul just as all the travelers back in the village had since the moment they had first arrived. As though he was little more than dirt.

"I asked," Asterix responded hurriedly, already headed in the direction he had indicated, trying to dodge anymore conversation on the subject. Only Getafix knew what he meant. Itylus was simply plunged into complete confusion on the matter, but was too proud to stoop so low as to question the Gaul further. They trudged Southward, Asterix and Getafix walking up front, and Itylus moving grudgingly behind by several paces.

Asterix kept his eyes fixed ahead, and spoke softly to the druid so that Itylus would not hear. "Obelix came across the Romans. Apparently, he...he let them go...without a fight." His tone matched the look of worry that moved swiftly into Getafix's expression.

"That is...disconcerting." Getafix frowned, mattering to himself anxiously. Some of it was in Druidic, and Asterix couldn't understand it, but it wasn't hard to figure out what subject it was about.

Asterix felt suddenly very small and frightened, what was left of the Magic Potion wearing off quite suddenly. He looked down at the snow at his feet as he walked, working up the mental courage to ask his next question. "...Getafix?" It can out sounding strangled. He cleared his throat softly before continuing. "Getafix, how are you so sure that, if his strength were taken away, Obelix would...would..." He couldn't even bring himself to finish. But he didn't have to, because Getafix understood.

The druid was quiet for a long moment, before he started his explanation. "When Obelix first fell into the Magic Potion, I was very...concerned...about what would happen. I had never given a child the potion, and...never so much at once, to anyone." Getafix kept his voice down, again so their companion would not hear. "I tried many things, to try and reverse the effects. Everyone wanted him back to normal; his parents, the villagers, and me. I felt it was my mistake to undo." Getafix missed the look of guilt that crossed Asterix's face. "I kept trying, until finally I found something I thought would work...I tested it, of course, before giving it to him, and it was a promising potion. But..." Getafix looked slightly pained by the memory. "But when I had just given him a little, he became very ill...You were too young to be told, but...but we almost lost him. It was then that I found out that...I couldn't take away the strength the Magic Potion. He needed it. It was a part of him. And it still is."

Asterix felt as though he were shrinking deep inside. He knew that Getafix's guilt was unwarranted. It had been _him_ that had convinced Obelix, as a little boy, to sneak into the druid's hut and drink the potion. He had only had his friend's best interests at heart, he really had. But it had all gone so wrong. It was something that had haunted Asterix for quite a long time, the guilt only finally wearing off when he realized that it had actually all turned out for the best. Obelix had turned out just fine. Better than fine. In fact, Obelix had always loved his strength, after he had learned how to control it, at least to a degree. But now things had gone all wrong again. And Asterix could only blame himself.

It was the only secret Asterix had ever kept from Getafix. The only secret he had ever kept from anyone. And Obelix had never told. Never, because he had forgiven Asterix. In fact, Asterix doubted that he had ever felt he had anything to forgive. Since then, Asterix had striven to never make a mistake like that again. To always protect his friend. And he had succeeded...until now.

Asterix quickened his pace, trying to keep the guilt down that threatened to be released.

* * *

A deep darkness fell on the village of the indomitable Gauls, night without stars or moon, as the sky was filled with heavy clouds. Snow fell slowly; lazily, drifting down and gathering on the ground, adding to the white that already existed. The air was frigid, and the wind still blew from the sea and out across the land. It was quiet, as silent as winter can be, with no birds, or other animal sounds to break the spell. It gave one a feeling of being alone, and made one long for the warm days of spring. But spring was still a long ways away. For now, the silence would reign undisturbed.

All lamps in the village had been put out, the inhabitants having gone to sleep quite some time ago. All but one.

Fulliautomatix was working late in his shop, as he sometimes did. He always worked when he was worried, and the whole situation with Obelix had left him nervous and on edge. He didn't like the fact that the three protectors of the village were gone, even though he knew it was for a good reason. But, without Obelix's strength, Getafix's magic, and Asterix wits, it was disconcerting to think of anything happening. He was sure that Getafix must have left them with some directions as to what to do in case the Romans attacked, which, while it was extremely unlikely, was always a possibility. Perhaps Vitalstitistix knew something of it. But it still made Fulliautomatix very uneasy.

Putting down his hammer with a heavy thunk, he knew that it was now too late at night to do anymore metal pounding. It was a noisy occupation, he had to admit, but it served him and his family well. Placing all his tools back in their proper places, as well as cooling the fires that heated them, he began to close up shop, intending on going right to bed as soon as possible. It had been a long day, what with the various search parties that had been out looking for Obelix, and his body ached for the warmth of woolen blankets and straw mattress. His wife and children had long since fallen asleep upstairs, where the blacksmith and his family lived above the store, but he knew that his wife would be waiting for him. She always worried. She never liked it when he worked late.

Preparing to head up, he took a final glance at his project that still lay on his anvil. It was a blade, smooth and sharp, soon to be crafted into a sword for a customer on the east side of the village. While they rarely used their weapons, the Gauls made sure that they were always prepared, especially after the whole incident with Mastix. Not that blades would have done much then.

With a sigh, Fulliautomatix pushed the troubling thoughts from his mind, untied his apron and hung it on a peg by the steep, ladder-like staircase he had built himself. Turning to climb them, he only made it to the second step when there was a firm pounding of a fist on his shop door. Blinking in surprise that someone would visit him so late, Fulliautomatix turned, a look of puzzlement forming on his face.

"Come in," he called, truly expecting it to be Unhygienix, complaining about some problem or other. Perhaps his lantern was shining through the fishmonger's window again, or something equally trivial. He turned back to the staircase, half tempted to just go off to bed without waiting to hear his friend out. "But don't expect me to pay much attention to what you have to say." he called over his shoulder, taking another step up the stairs.

"Oh, I think you will. Once you have heard it."

The voice, obviously not of Gaulish lilt, caused Fulliautomatix to startle, whipping around to face the now open door. Cold air blew in, feeding the dying flames of the blacksmith's fire, bringing it flickering back to life. It cast an eerie glow all around, making matters even more surreal. There, standing in the frame of the doorway, was Lycurgus, backed up by several of his largest men. Fulliautomatix caught himself from showing just how startled he was, pasting on as courteous a smile as he could manage, even though his instincts were practically screaming at him that something was not right.

"Lycurgus," the blacksmith said, a little breathlessly. He was feeling very uneasy about the man's sudden appearance, especially when flanked by his followers at such a late hour. He suspected trouble. "What is it you need?"

Lycurgus's sharp eyes glinted in the firelight. "We _want_ our weapons. I was told that you were put in charge of them. Where are they?" His voice held very little tone. Demanding, but not threatening. Not yet, anyway. His stance was strong and confident, towering over Fulliautomatix in height, even though the blacksmith was quite tall himself. Or maybe Lycurgus just seemed taller because he was so intimidating.

The blacksmith shook his head slowly, his hands clenched at his sides as his stomach suddenly took a dive. He stepped back down of the stairs, moving to the side of it anxiously. But, being a man of strength himself, Fulliautomatix managed to hide his concern. "I'm sorry," he said sternly, putting as much authority into his voice as he could. "But I was ordered not to hand your people back your weapons without the direction of either Asterix, Getafix, or Chief Vitalstitistix." He put on a more calming look, hoping to pacify the men who had now come further into his shop, closing the door behind them. "They are safe, I assure you. They will be well kept until you and your people are ready to leave. I hope you...understand?" The last word came out shrouded in uncertainty, despite his struggle to hide it.

"Oh, I understand," Lycurgus said simply. He had moved forward during Fulliautomatix's words, in an aimless manner, coming right in front of the Gaul. When the blacksmith had said his piece, the traveler half turned, and it appeared as if he were going to leave. "I understand very well." But then, without warning, he swung back around, slamming his fist into the blacksmith's stomach with a force Fulliautomatix would have never expected.

The Gaul gave a sputtering gasp of pain and surprise, arms wrapping around his middle as he leaned forward, curling in around himself, desperately trying to catch the breath that had been viciously driven from him. It stung and ached all at once. A throb of fiery pain that spider-webbed up his chest and around his sides, as though something within him had been crushed. But he wasn't given time to recover.

Grabbing the blacksmith's arms, two of Lycurgus's men, far larger than the rest, forced the Gaul to straighten out, holding him firmly pressed against the wall of his own hut as he gasped for air. The pain worsened when he couldn't fold up into it, but it was easier to breath, not that that was these villains' intention.

"My patience grows thin, Blacksmith," Lycurgus said sternly, inspecting his fist as though admiring its strength. "My people intend to take this village, and I care not whether you approve. But I don't want to hurt any of you people if I don't have to. If you cooperate, none of you will be harmed." His eyes gazed firmly into those of Fulliautomatix, the blacksmith still struggling to speak around his pain.

"W-We t...We trusted y-you!" he finally managed to stutter angrily, gasping around each word and spitting out the words themselves with venom. "Th-This i-is what...what I say t-to you and...and your followers!" He lashed out with his foot, lurching forward in his captor's hands, managing to get Lycurgus in the knees. The leader of the travelers gave a hiss as his legs were forced backward, under the pure force behind the blow. It forced him to stumble back, feet scrambling for balance in a very undignified manner. Fulliautomatix gave a grin, having wanted to do that since the big snob had first set foot in their village.

The smile was wiped from his face as he was jerked backward, harshly into the wall again, this time so hard it stunned him. His head hit the wood with a bang, his vision blurred slightly before clearing back up. By that time, Lycurgus had regained his composer; that same, calm but stern gaze fixing itself back on the blacksmith.

"That was my error," the traveler drawled slowly, coming closer, but not too close. "I allowed myself to come too near to you." His frown hardened. "A mistake I shall not make again." Reaching a hand toward the blacksmith's workstation, Lycurgus slowly, and without breaking his gaze with Fulliautomatix, grabbed the unfinished sword the blacksmith had been working on. It had no hilt, only the blade, but the blade was sharp, and well crafted. Fulliautomatix should know; he had made it. Inspecting the craftsmanship, Lycurgus came just a step nearer. "I want to know where you have hidden our weapons. It would be easier for us all, especially yourself, if you simply told us." He looked meaningfully at the pale Gaul's face, weighing the unfinished sword in his hand.

Fulliautomatix was scared out of his wits. The grip of the two holding him were far beyond any natural strength he had ever experienced. He couldn't move, not even an inch away from the wall. His arms and wrists pinned, he couldn't even shift to relieve himself of the sharp peg in the wall that was needling into his back. His legs were still free, but no one was close enough for them to be of anymore use, unless you counted the two brutes who gripped him. But they were too close, a leg each pressed against the front of his, keeping him from trying to lash out again. It dawned on the blacksmith that he was in serious trouble. But he wasn't about to give in to these lunatics at the drop of a pin, despite his fear. Steeling himself for whatever may come, Fulliautomatix gave his answer.

"No."

Lycurgus shrugged. "Very well. It matters not to me." Raising the sharp blade, he aimed it for the Gaul's chest. Fulliautomatix's eyes widened, and, despite the peg behind him, he pressed even harder against the wall, willing himself to escape, even though he knew he could not. Screwing his eyes shut, the blacksmith prepared himself for, what he imagined, would be a painful experience.

"Fulliautomatix? Are you coming up or not?"

Fulliautomatix's eyes snapped open, filled with fearful horror at the sound of his wife's voice. Lycurgus turned toward the staircase, causing the blacksmith's eyes to widen further in panic. His struggles to get free doubled as a small woman descended into view, searching for her husband with a mix of worry and anger.

Before she had even noticed the situation she had just waltzed into, one of Lycurgus's men grabbed her roughly by the wrist, pulling her harshly down the remainder of the steps. She was dressed in her nightgown, feet bare, and she nearly stumbled and fell at his treatment. She gasped, finding herself hanging by her wrist, which was held in the tight grip of one of the travelers they had come to know. His face though, was frightening. That was the only way to put it. There was no compassion in those eyes. No smile on that face. Mrs. Fulliautomatix gave a small cry of fear, kicking in the air, but to small to inflict any damage.

"Let her go!" Fulliautomatix shouted, his voice slightly higher pitched in his distress. He struggled even harder against his captors, actually managing to take a few steps forward before being forced back again. His eyes didn't match his words of defiance though, but, instead, showed intense fear. An intense fear for someone he loved dearly.

Lycurgus could read the blacksmith like a scroll. And he wasn't about to loss this opportunity for leverage against the frantic Gaul.

"I will let her go," he vowed coolly, "If you tell me where the weapons are. Think carefully, for it is no longer you who will pay for your defiance." He watched in satisfaction as several warring emotions practically froze Fulliautomatix to stillness. His expression one of mental pain, as the blacksmith tried to figure out what to do. He no longer struggled, but he was shaking, ever so slightly, telling Lycurgus that his words were definitely having an effect.

Fulliautomatix felt like he was being torn in two from the inside out. His mind screamed at him not to let Lycurgus and his men have the weapons. All those swords...The damage the man could inflict with them being to frightening to think about. But the blacksmith's heart cried out in pain at the sight of wife, held in the grasp of the enemy, looking over at him with a terrified, pleading expression. He couldn't let anything happen to her. He just couldn't.

Finally, too worn out by his mental struggle to hide his hopelessness, Fulliautomatix lowered his eyes to the floor in shame. His voice was shaky when he spoke, cracking with emotion. "T-They're...They're in a...hidden opening...behind that board in the wall..." He nodded weakly with his head to the left, still not looking anyone, even his own wife, in the eyes.

A few of Lycurgus's men, those who were not holding the prisoners, hurried forward, tearing the board in question right off the wall, leaving a large, gaping hole. Within it lay the sparkling blades of the travelers, still as sharp and clean as before. The Gauls had taken very good care of them. Passing out the swords, the villains sheathed them, already feeling more powerful now that they were armed. They stood at attention, awaiting their leader's next command. He didn't keep them waiting.

"Gather the villagers and bring them all to this hut," Lycurgus demanded dramatically, raising his hand as though in blessing. "Release these two. They will stay." He pointed to one of the men. "Go up and bring their children down." Without ceremony, the large men released Fulliautomatix roughly, and the Gaul tried not to pass out as he staggered forward away from them, fining his body and mind suddenly overwhelmed by all that was happening. Stumbling to the corner, he gathered his wife to him, holding his hands around her protectively. They watched in fear as the large warrior went upstairs to force their little ones awake and bring them down.

Lycurgus took no notice, no longer caring as long as they stayed inside the hut and out of his way. Lycurgus's eyes shown with a brilliance all their own, strong anticipation and enthusiasm blooming within him. With a grin of triumph, he turned to his remaining men.

"The village is ours."

* * *

 **Well, here's another! This should last everyone a little while while I work on a few other stories. The next chapter is already almost half finished, so it shouldn't be too long in coming. ;) See ya!**


	13. Trapped

The silent winter night was thrown into utter chaos. The Gauls, who had all been safe and warm in their beds, found themselves forcibly removed from their homes, as doors were broken down and they themselves rounded up with shocking accuracy. Unhygienix, his wife, and their two sons had been just settling in for the night when they came, Lycurgus's men giving them all a terrible fright. The fishmonger had put up a pretty good struggle, throwing a few stray fish at the intruders that happened to have been within reach. But, not being terribly in shape, especially compared to the burly travelers, it was not long before he and his family were overcome and pulled outside.

Similar instances happened all over the village, in every occupied hut. Geriatrix and his wife were given just as rough a treatment, despite age or beauty. Soporifix hadn't stood a chance, living all alone. He could not fend off the intruders on his own, and he too was overcome. Cacofonix had found himself thrown out of his hut onto the platform of his tree hut, threatened that if he didn't descend the steps that he would be thrown down. Naturally, he complied, not wishing the painful experience of such a fall again.

Every Gaul awoke to an equally unpleasant situation. Some fought, others cried out in fear. But they were all subdued and forced out of their homes, herded in the direction of Fulliautomatix's shop. Their eyes filled with confusion and anxiety, and their bodies shivering from the cold and fear.

The commotion traveled through the rugged windows of the chieftain's hut, muffled and chaotic as it was. The sound cut into Vitalstitistix's sleep, at first only nudging at his drifting consciousness. He shifted in bed, moaning slightly as he came around a little. He felt Impedimenta shift beside him just as restlessly, and that brought him closer to wakefulness. As chief of the village, he sometimes could tell when something wasn't quite right. Not like Asterix could. No, not even minutely as well as Asterix could. But, sometimes, especially when he wasn't really focused on anything, it would nag at him ever so slightly. Like it was doing now. That, and, ever since Mastix had very nearly taken his wife away from him with a terrible illness, Vitalstitistix had become far more protective of Impedimenta. It still sometimes ate at him, that feeling of hopelessness that he had felt then, watching her struggling just to take in a sufficient breath. It had nearly torn his heart in two. He had barely been able to stand it. And he had promised himself that he would never let that happen again.

The sense of uneasiness finally breaking through, Vitalstitistix sat up with a start, his sudden movement waking Impedimenta immediately. Her eyes bleary with sleep, she turned slightly, blinking up at him. She noticed his tense posture, the way he seemed to be staring ahead, with a look of fear, as though he was listening to something so horrible it had frozen him completely.

"Piggywiggy? Wha-"

"Shh..." he shushed hurriedly, still unmoving. She could almost feel how intently he was listening. She could tell how urgent it was, and so stayed silent, sitting up a little more. She tried listening as well, but only thought she heard something far in the distance, somewhere outside. Her eyes settled on her husband, waiting for him to finally give her some kind of clue as to what was happening. Finally, he spoke, his voice actually holding a hint of shaky uncertainty. "Impedimenta..." He turned to her suddenly, all at once very certain. "Something's wro-"

 _BANG!_

He didn't even get to finish, his words cut off by the sound of their door being kicked open with a smash. Unlike many of their neighbors, Vitalstitistix and Impedimenta slept on the ground floor of their cottage, Vitalstitistix having got tired of climbing the ladder. Neither could see the door from their bedroom-section of the hut, but they knew at once that this was not a friendly visit. The chieftain leaped out of bed, stumbling as his foot caught on the hem of his nightshirt, which was longer than it should have been made. He regained his footing just as the curtain that sectioned off their sleeping area from the rest of the hut was roughly pulled aside. Vitalstitistix looked up in shock while Impedimenta gave a cry of surprise, both shocked by the appearance of two of Lycurgus's men.

In his innocence, Vitalstitistix might have though these men meant them no harm, thinking maybe they just had a really important question or something equally naive. But the looks in their eyes as they gazed down at him viciously, made those assumptions completely null and void. Bracing himself, and pulling himself up to his full height, Vitalstitistix placed his fisted hands on his wide hips, giving the two intruders a glare that could have curdled milk.

"What do you want?" he growled, secretly shaking with fear in his bare feet. "You're not supposed to be in here! Get out!"

They responded by one of them reaching out roughly and grabbing the chieftain's arm, pulling him away from the bedside quite violently. It hurt, and he gave a gasp, not even trying to pull back away before the throb quieted slightly.

Impedimenta gave another cry, this time of anger. She threw the covers off of herself, swinging her bare feet over the edge of the bed and landed on the floor, wagging a furious finger up at the second man. "Let my Piggywiggy go!" she demanded.

Even under the circumstances, Vitalstitistix couldn't help blushing at the embarrassing nickname, but he quickly pushed that from his mind, working on regaining his freedom from the villain's terribly tight grip on his upper arm. His worry for his wife's safety escalated as the other brute stepped toward Impedimenta menacingly.

" 'Pedimenta! Run!"

The woman's determination faded as her eyes widened, suddenly very aware of the danger she was in. She turned to do as she was told, but was caught by the wrist by the second fellow and pulled back into place, her eyes widening further, glancing over at Vitalstitistix in fear.

"Let her go! Right this instant!" the distressed husband shouted, his voice angry, but also distinctly unsteady. He was rewarded by tightening fingers around his arm, and a sneering face only inches from his own. He recognized the face at once as one of the men he and Impedimenta had offered to house in their home. It only fed his shock, as he stilled at the traveler's growling threat.

"Stop struggling, or we'll give you something to shout over!" With that, the two Gauls were physically dragged from the room, stumbling bare feet having trouble keeping up with the two larger mens' long strides. They were marched right through their hut, out into the audience chamber, and then finally out into the dark cold night. Both husband and wife gasped at how cold it was, their bare feet forced to walk into the existing several inches of snow. It was numbing, prickling almost. As they were practically dragged along, it began to hurt, the cold almost too much. The wind was whipping at them, the two only dressed in their nightclothes, a thin wool that the Gauls made from a fabric imported from a market in Lutetia. It was far less than what they needed right now.

The two were forced across the village center, pulled along toward the blacksmith shop. The door was opened with a jolt, revealing Lycurgus's tall, healthy frame standing in the way. He looked down at the shivering pair held before him, with that same contempt that he had held before, only showing without restraint now. Vitalstitistix, despite his chattering teeth and frozen toes, glared up at the man with intense anger, pointing the finger of his free hand up at him with aggressive betrayal in his expression.

"Is this how you treat the people who let you into their homes?!" he cried, eyes boring into the man furiously. "We let you in with trust! And this is how you repay us?!" He pulled against the hand that held his arm, not caring in the least about the pain from it. Even his feet felt suddenly warm, flushed from head to toe with his intense anger. The only residual shake was in his extended pointer finger, but that was because of the mix of anger and fear that flowed through him as well.

Impedimenta shrank back as much as she could with her wrist caught in the iron grip that held her in place. She glanced fearfully from Lycurgus's impassive face to Vitalstitistix's stern, angry posture, afraid for his safety. She was afraid that Vitalstitistix's words would bring on the traveler's wrath, and, under the circumstances, that would be very bad indeed. But Lycurgus seemed nearly unaffected by the chieftain's frustrated rant, and only stepped forward, hands behind his back, as though observing them was all he planned on doing.

"I owe you nothing," the traveler intoned calmly, as though it were the simplest thing in the world to understand. "Except, perhaps, renewing a hope that I had nearly given up on. A vision that I had nearly deserted." His eyes looked to Impedimenta, taking in her bedraggled condition before turning back to an equally ruffled Vitalstitistix. "Had you not brought us in, then all of that would have been lost. And for that, I suppose you should be thanked."

"Vision?" Vitalstitistix hissed, still struggling, albeit, much more weakly. He was tiring, and, even in his anger, the cold was starting to get to him. His voice held more contempt than Impedimenta had ever heard him use before. She was secretly proud of him, having not realized how stern and brave he could be when the moment called for it.

Lycurgus stepped aside, and his two men roughly hustled the two Gauls inside the hut. The warmth hit them at once, like a wall, but it felt _so_ _good_. Their skin was instantly crawling with a sensation not all that unlike pins and needles as they thawed out. Blinking in the sudden light, both were surprised to find the blacksmith's hut crammed with other villagers. In fact, looking all around them, Vitalstitistix realized that they were _all_ there. Every man, woman, and child was huddled within, cramped in the tight space. The room had never been made to hold so many at once. And yet, somehow, they had all managed to stay as far to the back as possible, putting space between them and Lycurgus and his men. Others of the traveler's followers had gathered outside the door, looking in with contempt on those within. Only Lycurgus remained within the confines of the door. Vitalstitistix turned to him sharply, still waiting for an answer to his question. Lycurgus didn't disappoint him.

"Yes, vision. A vision that has long since been forgotten by my people. A vision of order and strength. A world where the stronger survive, because it is right." The man's eyes took on a far away look, as though he were staring into a past no one else could see. His face changed to one of pained remembrance and grief. "In Rome I fought in the arenas. Like any other man, I stood my ground. Conquered and forced to kill or be killed. A world of chaos, and weakness. I saw many fall. I fell many men before my blade myself."

Fulliautomatix began putting the man's cryptic words together. "You were a gladiator?" He had never had the misfortune to see an arena, nor any of the men forced to fight within them, but he had heard. Asterix and Obelix had seen them, as had Cacofonix. And by the way the bard had paled at the blacksmith's words, Fulliautomatix knew, even before Lycurgus answered, that he was right.

"I was forced to fight for the audiences of Rome, despite the supposed great respect they have for my people's history. They take our art, and our ways; our buildings and temples, by copying geniuses from our past. From _my_ past. And yet, for their own foul entertainment, they are willing to put one of those same people to death in the arena, and watch as he is forced to fight. Born and bred for death. But I survived. Because I was _strong_."

Vitalstitistix was still filled with rage, standing between his people and Lycurgus in what could be perceived as a protective stance. "What has that got anything with what you're doing right now?" he growled threateningly. Impedimenta stood clinging to his side, eyes wide in fear, for her husband, and for all those of the village.

Lycurgus's gaze returned to the pudgy chieftain's enraged face, eyes coming back to the present. His expression, though outwardly calm, held a hint of something that unnerved Vitalstitistix, and nearly made him back down.

"Everything." Lycurgus's words came out in a hissing breath. "My ancestors would never of had to endure such torture. My ancestors were fearless warriors, a nation unbeatable by all. They were bred to defend, to be strong. To crush those who posed a threat. And as I sat in my cell, year after year, fight after fight, I realized that was what I wanted. To be unbeatable. To be strong. A commander of a world of order and strength. And so I plotted. I schemed. I forced my vision to become reality. I escaped the world of those Roman fools." Lycurgus's voice remained eerily passive. "I freed many that night, and we left Rome. We traveled long and hard, but even the icy winds of winter could not stop us." He actually smiled, a sick, twisted smile. "And then we came here. The perfect place to make that vision a reality. Here, we are to built a new Sparta. I swear it upon the lives of my ancestors."

"You'r a Greek!" Vitalstitistix suddenly realized, his own expression taking one of colorful surprise. The Greeks, in the past, had been known as a dangerous force. Athens and the mighty Sparta among them. Though the Gauls, their village in particular, had never had any problem with them, it was still understood that they were a force to be reckoned with. A force that, when hostile, Vitalstitistix wanted out of his territory. Had they told him what they were, he would have still welcomed them with open arms; but shrouded in deceit and violence, they had no place among the Gauls.

"You're a nut!" Geriatrix added from somewhere within the crowd of compacted Gauls behind Vitalstitistix. There was a soft murmur of agreement. This man's mind was twisted with years of hate and delusion, and yet his face read none of those things. Except maybe his eyes. His eyes were dark and fierce. It was there that his hatred resided. And it wasn't even hatred against them. In fact, as of the moment, his hatred seemed unfounded and detached. Wandering in mystery, waiting for something to latch onto.

"I saw this village as an opportunity," Lycurgus continued solidly, ignoring the Gauls' words. "I saw that a great magic resides in this place. A magic that could make my vision a true reality. A magic that would give all my followers the strength needed to create a world of order and power. No one would ever be able to enslave us again. Hurt us. Conquer us. We would be...indomitable."

The Gauls all felt a shiver of fear run up their spines, a sense of cold heaviness settling in their chests.

"That is why I had to get rid of the largest man among you. He could have stopped us. Him and that little warrior you all put so much trust in." Lycurgus spat out those words with just a barely noticeable hint of animosity. "The druid too left, and that is just as well."

Impedimenta's eyes widened, stepping forward in shock, though Vitalstitistix held her from moving too close to their enemy. "Y-You're the one who convinced Obelix to leave!" Her face suddenly filled with anger. "Why?! He never did anything to you! He never did anything to anyone!"

Lycurgus's cool gaze landed upon her with disdain. "He was a threat to my success," he answered smoothly. "As was your druid, and that little man you call a warrior, though they were just a bonus. It worked out far better than I had anticipated."

It took a moment for his words to sink in, before the Gauls looked collectively shocked. It all made sense now. That explained Obelix's strange behavior. It had all been a plan all along to get him out of the village. Asterix and Getafix had been so worried about their friend, they hadn't given thought to it possibly being a trap. A scheme. A trick. It filled them with fear, but also with a great anger. Their faces went from shock, to grief, to rage.

"You monster!" Bacteria shouted, still griping her husband and children.

"You're a fool!"

"Asterix will save us!"

"You won't stand a chance!"

Lycurgus's face grew harder, drawing his recovered sword from the scabbard at his side with a metallic swish. The eyes of the Gauls widened, prompting them to silence as they all pressed as far back from the Greek as the room would permit, afraid of what he was about to do. He held the weapon at his side, as though only to keep their attention. All distraction of the past now gone, Lycurgus's voice gained a tone of threatening determination.

"Now. Tell me what it is that gives you your strength."

The Gauls exchanged frightened glances, mixed with just a hint of surprise. They found it odd that the Greek knew of their strength, and yet did not know what was its cause. In a way, perhaps that was a good thing. If they didn't tell him, he wouldn't be able to get his hands on the Magic Potion. The sides would still be equal physically. But if Lycurgus managed to gain the power of the potion, the Gauls wouldn't stand a chance. With that in mind, a goal that was set and understood by them all, even the children, the Gauls shut their mouths, glaring up at Lycurgus in defiance.

A tense silence filled the shop, in which only the flickering warmth of the blacksmith's hearth moved, casting shifting shadows over all. Lycurgus was as still as a statue, eyes boring into the Gauls, calm and posed outwardly, but gaze fierce and violent. Frightening. Even the Greek followers standing outside the door were motionless, looking in through the frame in curious cruelty, waiting to see what their leader would do.

And then, finally, deep and cold as ice, Lycurgus gave a sneering smirk. "Very well. I will give you time to think your situation over. You may find that it is far darker and chilling than you originally thought." He bent over, grabbing a vase pot by the fire. Fulliautomatix raised a brow, recognizing it as his emergency supply of water. When working with hot metal and flame, it was always wise to keep water nearby, in case something caught fire. Lycurgus took it, standing and then throwing the contents on the hearth. There was a hiss of embers, a plume of steam and smoke, and then the shop was plunged into darkness. It was so sudden and unexpected, the Gauls gasped, clinging to one another in the blackness. All they could see was Lycurgus's silhouette in the doorway, a dark figure against the glow of snow outside.

"Good night," Lycurgus smirked with his voice, leaving the hut and shutting the door with a slam that caused them all to flinch. He left them to the darkness and cold. Without a fire, the temperature in the hut would plummet. And there was nothing they could do about it. Surely they were being guarded.

There was no way out.

Another silence stretched out, in which, even in the darkness, Vitalstitistix could feel numerous pairs of frightened eyes upon him. Hemmed in on all side by the people he was supposed to protect and lead, the chieftain felt very much in the spotlight. He felt as though they were all turning to him for answers, but the truth was he didn't have a single idea as to what to do. His arm still ached from the rough treatment he had received, being forced from his home. With his other he gently gripped Impedimenta, trying to reassure himself that she was alright. That everything was going to be fine.

"P-Piggywiggy?" Her voice shook uncertainly, filled with such fear that Vitalstitistix didn't even pay any attention to the embarrassing nickname. It shook his foundation of strength even more, making him struggle to gain a mental balance, so that he could be brave for her sake. For all their sake. Even when he almost felt like breaking down in terror of what was happening.

But he had no idea what to do. He felt like curling in on himself, letting his fear consume him, but he couldn't. Not with so many looking to him for help. And even then, he was just a chief. He was no warrior. He knew nothing of protecting, other than fighting, and then only with the use of the Magic Potion. But this was different then the fights the Gauls had given in the past. In this case, they had already lost. The enemy was within their walls. The Gauls were captured; prisoners in their own home.

"I...W-We can't let him get the Magic Potion," Vitalstitistix offered to them. It was the only thing he knew for certain. The only thing that made any sense at the moment. "If he gets it, we won't have any hope of beating him."

"He's beat us," Geriatrix muttered in an unsteady tone. He had been pretty badly shaken by the current events. He didn't even have his usual T-shaped cane, having not had time to grab it when he had been roughly forced to leave his hut. His wife was supporting his weight, acting as his crutch.

"Not if we get to the potion first," the chieftain said quickly, then whispered. "Getafix said he left a supply of it in his hut." That both encouraged him, and frightened him. It gave the Gauls a chance. But it also gave Lycurgus a chance, should he find the potion before the Gauls could get to it.

Unhygienix felt around in the dark for his wife's hand, feeling it grasp for his own. Now that their eyes were adjusting to the dark, it was getting easier to make each other out. They could see dark figures of one another, but little more. "But with Asterix, Obelix, and Getafix gone, the village is defenseless," the fishmonger observed in a small voice. "None of us have the experience, or the strength to take the position of warrior. No one except..." He paused, a sudden thought coming to him. " Except for Fulliautomatix."

The Gauls all blinked, turning to look at the dark mass that they knew be the blacksmith with a sense of renewed realization. Fulliautomatix seemed taken aback by the sudden attention, holding his hands up almost defensively. "What? No. No, no, no; I can't do that! I'm no warrior!" He almost physically backed away from them, feeling their eyes widen in desperation.

"But your the strongest," came Cacofonix's strained voice. The cold air was doing nothing for his cold, and his chest felt tight and chilled. "With Asterix and Obelix gone, the duty falls to the next most qualified."

"Which is you," Vitalstitistix finalized gently. He didn't like it either, but they really had no choice. The chieftain needed someone to work with, whose strategy mixed with brawn. And Fulliautomatix was the only one left who met that description. The only one.

Fulliautomatix stood with his back against the cold wood of the wall, feeling trapped in more than one sense. He was imprisoned and guarded in his own shop, cramped with an entire village of frightened Gauls. An entire village of frightened Gauls who were turning to him for guidance. It was known that, though Vitalstitistix was a fine leader, he had never been that good at planning and strategy, something they truly needed now. He had always conversed with Asterix, a man who was warrior, not for his strength, but for his wits. But Fulliautomatix had never considered himself a terribly smart person. He had never done well in school, even under Getafix's patient teaching. But he was strong. Even without the Magic Potion, his strength was only outdone by Obelix's own. He had even, on occasion, hammered metal with nothing but his fist. Not a pleasant experience, but it did in a pinch when he had misplaced his mallet.

Slowly, the blacksmith realized that it was true. Of all of them, he was the only one qualified for that position at the moment. His gaze fell over the dimly lit faces, that were now visible, though only slightly. But it was enough to see how scared they all were. How afraid they were, clinging to one another, as tight as a family. He couldn't let them down. He couldn't say no. Fulliautomatix had no choice. With a shuddering sigh, he nodded, whether they could see him do so or not. They must have, because some of the tension in the room uncoiled, making it easier to breath. They were taking him at his word. They felt safer, even if the blacksmith found he couldn't protect them. He would try, and for now, that was all they could ask for. They would defend each other. And they would make it through.

The cold wind blew against the walls of the shop, drafting in through the cracks in the wall. Snow fell outside, adding to the chilly atmosphere. Inside, the Gauls huddled, women, children, sick and eldest closer to the middle, while the stronger closed them in. The shop grew colder and darker as the night wore on, and the Gauls found themselves longing for daybreak.

And hope.

* * *

 **I have been taking an Art History class in college this past semester, and a large part of it has been on the Greeks and the Romans. The Romans got most of their ideas for art and architecture from the Classical Greeks, seeing it as superior to their own.**

 **Note: I am not portraying the Greeks as evil, please understand. I know I have some Greek readers, and I just wanted to assure you that I have no intention of making anyone feel I have something against them. I think you all know that, but I am always careful. I love Greece, and someday I'd love to visit. My real name, in fact, is Greek.**

 **Sometimes, during the winter, my family loses power, and all our heat turns off. Living alone, out in the woods, sometimes we have to just wait it out, and hope that the power will be restored. I can remember many times, during a long, cold night, huddling together with my family to keep warm, jackets on and under many folds of blankets. That was definitely an inspiration for this scene with the Gauls. :)**


	14. On the Move

Getafix was glad that Asterix wasn't so stubborn that he didn't know when to rest.

That had always been a problem in the past, and he had been expecting it now, as he gently herded Asterix and Itylus into the dark, looming cave. It was very cold, and the druid had been keeping a careful eye on his friend. Asterix very well might have continued on through the driving snow, on and on until he dropped, if it wasn't for that broken arm of his. He had trudged onward, the limb held tightly to his chest, teeth gritted and eyes squinting. His skin was very pale, something that Getafix didn't like in the least. Even Asterix couldn't fight the discomfort it brought. It surely ached, and Getafix suspected that any herbs he had given the Gaul earlier to ease the pain must have worn off. And the cold hadn't helped any. Cold had a way of magnifying hurt, making it less easy to bear. Shivering jostled the limb and Getafix could clearly see that Asterix was clenching his teeth against the pain. And so, when Getafix suggested they find shelter, the Gaul had complied with little protest. Not without _any_ protest, but far less than Getafix had been expecting.

Luckily, these forests were littered with hidden caves. They speckled the woods, peeking out behind rock and brush. Now, even in the bare, white landscape of winter, they were well hidden. These caves Getafix knew quite well. He had explored all of them, sometimes with Asterix and Obelix as his companions, looking for suitable places for experimentation. It wasn't unusual for the druid to use such places for learning new techniques with his magic and potions, especially when they were ones far too dangerous to try out in the village. After all, magic could be a little unpredictable sometimes, and taking out half the village for a potion to cure hiccups was just not worth the danger. He himself, to protect against injury, always cast a protection spell about himself, lest the concoction should explode, or something equally undesirable. That way, he would never he hurt. But his power wasn't strong enough to protect everyone in the village at once. Or, at least, it hadn't been. But ever since Mastix's arrival, Getafix had found that his magic was stronger than he had realized. He had been able to protect the village from the evil druid's attacks, for long periods of time, and, though terribly draining on his part, had actually worked and held for quite some time. Getafix was still learning things about himself, and his magic and skill grew with each year he spent among the Gauls.

Getafix led their party of three into the nearest cave, his voice echoing off the empty walls as they slipped inside. "I've come here once or twice, to try out a few spells. A bit further from the village than I usually go. They didn't go so well, however, and I had to leave this place to air out for a few months. Should be just fine now, for our purposes." He cast a glance at the damp walls, his eyes picking out the black stains that told of his experiment's subsequent explosion. "We'll stay here until we feel ready to carry on."

Itylus gave a snort of impatience, leaning against the wall near the cave entrance, his body language telling of his thoughts even before he gave them voice. "I see no need to waste time in this place. Your friend grows further and further away. Your weakness will only cause the gap between us and him to grow further."

Getafix sent the man a look of frustrated disapproval. "And your stubbornness will be your downfall," he shot back. He was feeling irritated with the snobbish behavior of these people that they had taken in. Something about their superiority complex reminded him of something, he just couldn't quite remember what. Turning his back to the traveler, he helped ease Asterix into a sit on a small, stool-sized boulder. "Struggling through the snow will do us, or Obelix, little good if we die trying to reach him. Rest is a necessary part of life, there is no shame in it."

Itylus simply huffed and turned to gaze out into the falling snow.

"Ooh, eh...Ah!" Asterix hissed through his teeth, trying not to squirm as Getafix carefully unwrapped his arm from the sling. It was still very sore, and the blond Gaul could almost swear that every time he moved the limb, the bone threatened to stick through the tender skin once more. He knew it wouldn't, but his imagination obviously didn't agree, and images of what that would look like kept creeping into his mind's eye. He wasn't used to being crippled in any way, at least, not in a physical, structural sense. Asterix had only ever broken a bone once before, when he was very young. He had tried to follow the older boys up into a large tree out in the woods where they used to play, and had fallen. From quite a height. He had been so proud, even as he had been treated for his broken wrist, because, even though he had fallen, he had climbed higher than any of the other boys. It had been a heavy price, and it had hurt a lot, but it hadn't been anything like this. That had healed in about a month, this...Who knew how long it would take to heal. And what really bothered him was that it was the arm he used for practically everything. It made him nervous, knowing that, should he need to fight, his sword arm would be practically useless.

Asterix flinched as the support of the sling was removed, having to hold its weight now on his own. Getafix gave him a look of sympathy, as he gently took the limb in his cold, wrinkled hands.

"This is staying aligned quite nicely," he said encouragingly. "The break is staying right where Vitalstitistix and I set it." He gave a sad shake of his head, taking in the tight, pained look on his friend's face. "I wish that I could do something to speed up the process, but I cannot. I can, however, give you some more herbs for the pain. I assume those I gave you have worn off?"

Asterix nodded rather dizzily. He was starting to feel a little ill, a combination of the cold, his hunger, and the pain. His mind yelled at him to get up and continue his search for his friend, but his body obviously had other plans. He sighed, his mind wandering to their situation as Getafix carefully readjusted his sling and began retying it in place against the Gaul's chest. He hardly noticed the discomfort, his thoughts turning to Obelix.

Obelix, his best friend in all the world, was his main concern right now. His health came second. It really puzzled Asterix how Obelix could go and do something so foolish as running away. Obelix _loved_ the village, as well as those within it, and had declared so, in his own way, many times. Even on their worst days, nothing had ever happened that had been bad enough to prompt Obelix to leave. They had had disagreements, arguments, and even small fights, but nothing could ever make Obelix abandon his home. His life. So the question was, what had happened? Yes, Obelix probably felt guilty about Asterix's arm, but he would have been one to apologize and then be reassured, not one to turn his back on the whole thing and run from his troubles. It all had a very bad feel to it. A sickening dread that settled in Asterix's stomach. And with the knowledge of where Obelix was headed, to some powerful sorceress in some far-off place he had never even been to, nor heard of, made the matter all the worse. Obelix, along with all the villagers, didn't trust magic anymore. At least, not unless it was Getafix's. Ever since Mastix, they had seen the true evil it could unleash, and the fear and destruction it could cause when in the wrong hands. Asterix himself had felt it firsthand, as had Getafix, Cacofonix, and numerous other members of the village. They had all, in some way or another, felt the hurt that magic could bring. Even Obelix. Then why would Obelix go to a woman, one who practiced the dark arts just as Mastix had, willingly? Unless...Unless he didn't know any better. But how could he not?According to Lycurgus, that was Obelix's plan. He was turning to magic, of someone other than their druid, to take away what Asterix knew now to be his life force. Just as the Soul Light was his.

And, from past experience, Asterix knew that it was dangerous, and even deadly, to mess with someone's life force.

Asterix's heart constricted painfully. This was all his fault. If _he_ hadn't fallen, then Obelix never would have fallen either, and would never have gotten so upset. It hurt Asterix, making him cringe in a wave of self frustration. He was always causing trouble for his big friend it seemed. Even when they were children, it had always been Asterix who got them into mischief. It was Asterix who had come up with the idea of sneaking off into the woods that one time, when they had gotten lost. It had taken their fathers and the villagers most of the day and evening to find them. It was Asterix who had convinced Obelix to show him his father's helmet collection, which they had dropped and promptly dented. And it had been Asterix, first and foremost, who was to blame for convincing Obelix to drink the Magic Potion. Of course, he could't have ever imagined that Obelix would have fallen in, but that meant little in the long run. It had still been his idea, and therefore his responsibility. A responsibility that Asterix had burdened in silence for years. The only thing he was ever truly ashamed of from his life.

That, and the fact that he had never told anyone. Not even Getafix. And Obelix had never told either. Asterix felt he didn't deserve Obelix's friendship after a stunt like that, and yet Obelix had stuck by his side all these years.

Until now.

It made him feel empty inside. Empty and kind of sick.

Getafix carefully tied the linen around Asterix's shoulder, watching in mild concern as Asterix sat in deep thought, staring fixedly at the damp, opposite wall of the cave. Sometimes, he truly couldn't tell what was going through the little warrior's head. Asterix was a complicated man, emotions running high, but very well hidden in his compact body. Asterix was smart, and rational when it came to battles and fights and plans. But when it came to himself, and whatever he was feeling inside, he just didn't seem to be able to handle it well. He had always been that way, but since Mastix, it had gotten worse. With Obelix's life in danger, Asterix was surly worried. And, knowing him as well as he did, Getafix suspected that the short Gaul was also feeling a bit guilty. No, more than likely terribly guilty, where there shouldn't be any to speak of. It wasn't like it was Asterix's fault Obelix had run away. None of it was something to be placed on his shoulders. But Asterix was one to hold grave responsibility, whether he was to blame of not. A far cry to the spirited little boy the warrior had sprouted from. The little boy who would study hard in school, and then play just as rigorously. His imagination had been creative, to say the least; but it had only taken one lie for Asterix to learn that the truth was far better. Not because of punishment for lying, but just because he hated to let people down. That had been punishment enough. And since then, he had become an honorable Gaul, and a brave warrior. A brave man. A sometimes overworked and overly hard on himself man, but a courageous and kind man all the same.

Finishing his work, Getafix sat back, sending a look to the opposite side of their shelter once more. There, Itylus stood just as before, arms tight over his chest, looking on in what appeared like disdain at what he probably saw as 'weakness' and 'sentiment'. He had been very unhappy with Getafix's decision to stop and rest, of that the druid could easily see. And yet, even now, Getafix could see that Itylus was not as untouchable as he made himself out to be. He was shivering, however slightly, his arms folded not just out of annoyance, but cold. He would never admit it, Getafix was sure, but it was obvious to him that a fire would be welcomed. By _all_ of them. That, and some food would help them keep up their strength.

Asterix studied his fixed bandage with hardly any acknowledgement beyond that, his mind still set on the stress that had gripped him. He gave a sigh, looking down at his uninjured hand, studying the lines in his cold fingers, which still felt numb. "Why would he do this?" he asked softly, clenching the hand into a light fist, watching as it shook just a little, whether from worry or cold he wasn't sure. "Why would Obelix go so far to get rid of something he values so highly?" It just didn't make sense. Obelix loved being strong. He had always been proud of the man he had become since youth. How could that all turn around in an instant, after so many years of being content?

Getafix cringed sadly, truly at a loss. "I...I am afraid I don't know."

By the wall side, Itylus frowned, knowing the truth but keeping it hidden within the depths of his corroded heart. Again that little pang of guilt found its way to his soul, something that pricked at him, but he beat it down mercilessly. He would not give in to weak emotions of sentiment. He was Greek. A descendant of the Spartans, and follower of Lycurgus. He was without flaw or fear. He was unbeatable. These Gauls and their druid were not his friends. He had a job to do, and he was going to do it. When the time was right. He would do it.

"I was not even aware that Abbaddōn was still...alive," Getafix said rather haltingly, as though it was something he truly wished was not the case. It caught both Asterix and Itylus's attention at once. The Gaul sat up a little straighter, the mask of pain lessening slightly to be replaced by curiosity. Itylus raised an eyebrow in surprise, all while trying to appear as disinterested as possible.

Asterix shifted slightly, moving just a tad bit closer to the druid. "You...You know the woman Obelix has gone to see?" Somehow, that made him uneasy. Getafix had known Mastix too, and nothing good had ever come out of that. Getafix was such a good, kind-hearted person. When good is strong and present, there will always be an evil to oppose it. It had been that way with Mastix, and every other villain they had ever faced.

Getafix stood, gathering his satchel, which he had had the foresight to pack a bundle of tinder within. It was bitterly cold, and it would do none of them any good should they fall ill. He created a pile in the center of the cave, close to where Asterix was sitting. He make a canopy of sticks and hay, before he used some sort of spell to help catch it alight. Warmth bloomed from the flames, and Asterix at once felt his body relax. Only then, sitting and tending the fire, did Getafix answer. "Once I met her. When I was a child, no older than seven years of age." He paused, as though turning back time in his mind to the very days, hours, and minutes of that existence.

Asterix had a hard time imagining it. For as long as he could remember, Getafix had always looked the same. Long beard, bushy eyebrows and all, and over the years, he had barely changed whatsoever. To think that Getafix had once been a little boy was almost impossible to picture, even though all the Gauls were perfectly aware that he had been young at some point. Had Asterix not known how serious this all was, he might have laughed. But he did know. And he did not laugh.

"She came to the Carnutes," Getafix continued reluctantly. "Her magic was very strong, stronger than even myself, and certainly equal to the power of the Venerable Druid. Despite the Druidic rules for male members only, she wanted to speak her piece in the Council before them, to ask an unusual request. She was hoping that, for her, they might make an exception to the rules, and allow her to live among our order." He shook his head sadly. "But her powers were from a source of darkness and evil. Her skills were based on trial and error which, Toutatis forgive her, was steered by cruel experiments, on animals and people alike. Once this was discovered, she was refused entrance, and banished from our borders. She was...very angry, to say the least." Getafix's voice grew slightly quieter. "The only one who thought she was worth any consideration was Mastix. He was very interested in her powers and techniques...which I think contributed to the type of man he became later on."

Asterix shuddered.

Getafix too seemed distinctly uncomfortable with the subject. "When she was told to leave, she left bitter and resentful, declaring that the Council's decision would come back to haunt them someday. And that was the last we ever heard of her...until now. I can only surmise that she traveled to Burdigala, where she continued in her dark magic on her own."

Asterix shook his head, trying to dislodge the frightening thoughts that had been painted into his mind. This woman was obviously very dangerous...and evil. Which only made things worse. It made the light inside of him flicker in distress. Obelix was headed into a danger he didn't even know existed. A danger that could, no, _would_ take his life, if he wasn't stopped. Asterix was willing to do whatever it might take to get Obelix back home safe and sound, strength intact and whatever rift had been made in their friendship mended. "But, how would Obelix know of her?" he asked hesitantly. "If I've never been told, neither has he. And if he knew what you just told us, than he would never ever go to her on purpose, no matter what!" Asterix knew that for sure. "Obelix hated Mastix, maybe even more than I ever could. He would never put himself, or anyone else, in the hands of someone anywhere near as evil as him!" He hugged himself, eyeing the flame that the druid was gently coaxing to a burning life. "How had he heard of her?"

The question struck Getafix quite hard, and he was surprised to find that he didn't have a clue. As far as he could recall, he had never spoken of Abbaddōn to any of the Gauls. There had never been a need to. In truth, he had forgotten all about her, and hadn't even thought of her in years, since he was a little boy in fact. Obelix couldn't have learned of her from him, otherwise he would have remembered. Getafix prided himself on his very good memory, especially for a human being of his age, even though he was still relatively young for a druid. But Obelix should not have known of the old witch. Unless he had learned of it from someone else. The thought struck him as...odd. Who would know of her? And who would tell of her to a Gaul? No one that he could think of, unless Obelix had heard of her through one of his travels. No, because then Asterix would have known too. Then one of the travelers, maybe? Unlikely...But not impossible.

Getafix sent another glance toward Itylus, glad to see the young man had at least come closer to gather warmth from fire. Though he couldn't quite say that he disliked the travelers, he certainly couldn't say he enjoyed their company. Their haughty attitude got on his nerves far more than he would have ever admitted. But, besides that, he had no squabble with them. But, should one of them be responsible for Obelix's disappearance, they would have one very angry druid on their hands. And that would be nothing compared to a vengeful Asterix.

The small warrior stood shakily to his feet, his good hand resting against the wall as he steadied himself. "We should go. I want to reach Obelix before he reaches Abbaddōn." His heart skipped a beat. "Before it's too late." He started for the cave entrance, but Getafix's careful hand stopped him.

"Not until you've eaten and had a bit of remedy," the druid said sternly.

Asterix frowned, opening his mouth to protest, but Getafix again beat him to it.

"You are my patient, Asterix," Getafix said forcefully, eyes boring into his friend's with a frightening intensity, before softening just a little. "And my friend. I will _not_ lose you _and_ Obelix. We'll find him. I promise." His hand slowly released Asterix's shoulder, knowing that the Gaul would not leave. Asterix flicked his gaze between his friend and the world outside the cave, uncertainty and indecision clearly shown on his face. Slowly, his mind settled on trusting Getafix, and Asterix slowly sat back down beside the flames of the fire. But not without a final look and some softly whispered words, though they held all the courage and power of an all out yell.

"After Mastix was gone, I made Obelix a promise. I promised him I would never try to face danger alone again..." Asterix's eyes locked on the ground at his feet. "And I promised that if I ever did, we would do it together. But promises work both ways, Getafix. Now Obelix is in danger, and he is alone." He closed his eyes tightly. "My promise still stands. We will find him. On my word."

Standing as still as stone, Itylus felt a shiver crawl up and down his spine at those words. They held something unfamiliar to him. Something strong, even though it held no physical form. It was a strength he had never encountered.

Perhaps these Gauls were not quite as weak as they seemed at first.

* * *

Obelix didn't realize he had fallen sleep.

Of course, it wasn't like there was really anything to hold his attention on board the merchant ship. Nothing but water all around, and a cool, chilling spray and breeze. The sound of wind in the sails, billowing out and throwing the ship through the waters so powerfully. It really wasn't too bad. Almost relaxing, which was why he had fallen asleep. The rising and falling of the ship's deck had lulled him to slumber, and it wasn't until some clouded dream had startled him awake that he even realized how much time had passed. Luckily, the tossing of the sluggish waves did not bother him, and he had received a semi-satisfying meal in return for his help. Obelix didn't have the heart to tell Volumetrix that what he really needed was four times the amount of food he had been given. But it had at least taken away that threatening dizziness. It would hold him over. Upon waking, his first instinct was to check on Dogmatix, before he recalled where he was and what he had done.

Obelix missed Dogmatix terribly. The pup was always by his side, and to not have him so close was for something in him to be missing. An uncomfortable hole in his being. Like how his cottage had felt at first when his parents had moved away from the village, leaving the home to their son. That empty, lonely feeling deep inside. Ever since the Gaul had found the little dog, they had shared a connection, an unlikely friendship that he felt very empty without. He missed Asterix too, for the same reason. They were always together. Always. Right from the day they were born, they too had held a special connection. Like brothers, only sometimes maybe even stronger. Obelix missed his small friend, and all the other Gauls deeply.

That thought only strengthened his reasons for leaving. It was for them. To keep them safe. And no discomfort or fear or worry was worth putting their lives in danger. In danger of him.

Obelix's eyes roamed over the side of the ship's deck to the fog covered sea beyond it. How the sailors could see through such thick fog was beyond him, but he trusted their skill. He would not be concerned with things he did not understand. They understood it, and that was good enough for him. All around were happy, strong men, working away at their various tasks. But Obelix stood out, obviously unhappy. In fact, he was downright gloomy, and his mood was almost a physical substance that those around him could feel.

"Bad morning, Lad?"

Obelix startled slightly at the voice, looking down to his left and finding Volumetrix gazing up at him with a mix of amusement and worry. The fellow was nice enough, harmless and accepting. Something that Obelix felt he sorely needed at the moment. And the fact that he would show concern for someone he hardly knew touched Obelix, prompting him to give the captain a weak smile and an honest answer.

"It's been a bad few mornings, actually," the Gaul said lowly, turning back to the shrouded waters. The air was brittle with cold, and chunks of ice floated by from time to time, bucking against the currents caused by the ship's passing. Obelix quickly changed the subject, feeling his mood take an even more serious dive with just those few words. "When will we reach Namnetes?" It seemed as though they had been sailing for hours.

Volumetrix cocked his head, thinking his answer through before giving an estimate. "Very shortly, I believe. We've made good time, and the wind is still with us." He looked up at the full sails, before turning his gaze back on his passenger. He frowned slightly. "Now, Lad, you need to be careful in Namnetes. I know you're a big strong fellow, but, well, things still happen. The place is not as it once was, just as Veneti is not as it once was."

Obelix turned a little sharply, apprehension forming in his large gut. "You mean it's in ruins too?"

"No," the captain responded slowly, reluctant and trying to figure out how to put it. "But Namnetes was allies with Veneti...and at the end of the battle, when the Romans won, they too were defeated. Namnetes is under division, Lad. Not as badly as Veneti; no not by a long shot, but still badly effected. The Romans trail these lands, as they do all the land of the Gauls."

 _Not all the land,_ Obelix thought, but he nodded. He thought he understood, though he had to admit he was much more uneasy now. "I'll be careful."

There was an awkward silence between them before Volumetrix spoke again. He seemed hesitant, but what he had to say was important, and he _felt_ it was important. "Listen, Lad...Whatever it is you're running from...you won't find the cure for it there." He gestured with his head toward the direction of shore, before he gazed up into Obelix startled eyes, knowing that he had been correct in assuming that the large Gaul was not just a simple traveler.

Obelix felt his heart give a sickening drop. He was never good at hiding things from others. Especially Asterix. Asterix could always tell when something was wrong. He could always tell when Obelix was bothered, or feeling down, and always knew what to do. Now, that comfort was gone. Asterix was the very person that he was running _from_. Obelix cringed at Volumetrix's words, knowing deep down that he was right. But he had come too far, and his fear was still too great, to turn back now. Not until he had gone and done what he had planned to do. His mind kept asking him why. _Why?_ He wasn't even sure anymore. His confusion was so great, and his fear so blinding, he didn't even know why. Lycurgus had been just trying to help after all, and Asterix had always told him that help was something to accept. Even if Asterix rarely followed that rule himself.

Obelix lowered his gaze to the side, breaking eye contact with the merchant captain. "I...I know." And he did. The answer didn't reside in Namnetes, it resided in Burdigala. With Abbaddōn. Then, out of curiosity he asked, "How could you tell I was running from something?" He truly wanted to know. Maybe it would help him get better at hiding it.

Volumetrix shrugged, giving him a sad smile. "You just have that look about you. That out-of-place, on-the-run kind of feel. Believe me, I know it well." He swept a hand toward his busy crew. "Many of these men were running when they showed up where I found them. Lost, torn, and alone. That's no way to live, Lad. They all have some sort of dark past. Nothing criminal, you understand, but in need of a brighter future." He smiled. "If you want, I could make you a member of my crew. We have many adventures on this old ship. We're as tight as a family."

 _Tight as a family._ That made Obelix even more homesick. The village was family, even if they weren't related by blood. They were Gauls. They had grown up together, and knew each other like brothers and sisters. Obelix doubted that any other group of people could ever feel that way to him, outside of the villagers themselves. Obelix returned the smile, but shook his head. "Thank you, but no. I already have a family." He swallowed the lump in his throat. "And I'm going to return to them...as soon as I've done what I've set out to do." That last part felt bitter in his mouth. He almost wanted to spit the idea out and turn back.

But he couldn't.

What if he hurt someone?

No. Lycurgus was right. And Obelix was determined not to hurt anyone ever again.

Volumetrix, unaware of the turmoil within his new friend's mind, gave a chuckle. "Very well, Lad. Just stay clear of the women* in Namnetes, they're...not as nice as they appear." He frowned. "In fact, few people there are." He looked away from the conversation, noticing one of his crew staggering under the weight of some cargo. "Ho, Lad! Let me give you a hand with that!" As he darted to assist, Volumetrix called over his shoulder to Obelix. "We should be there in an hour or so! Just sit tight!"

'An hour or so' turned out to be far longer than expected. A strong wind had risen from the east, and the waves had made it hard to dock in Namnetes. They had had to wait it out until the wind had died down, and that had taken most of the day. By nightfall, Obelix finally found his feet on dry ground, on the docks of Namnetes. It felt odd, to no longer be standing on something that rocked from side to side, and it took him several minutes to lose what Volumetrix had called his 'sea legs'. But even then, he felt as if all around him were gently rising and falling like small waves. Not strongly, but just enough for him to sway slightly on his feet, in time with the feelings ebbs and tides. After giving the sailor and his crew a hearty thank you, as well as a very careful handshake, Obelix started off into the city, leaving the merchants to deliver their cargo.

Volumetrix gave a fond shake of his head as he watched the large Gaul disappear from view, blocked out by the buildings of the seaside habitat. "I hope that Lad finds what he's looking for. This place is no place for the naive, or kind of heart." He sent a side glance to his shipmates. "Let's unload the cargo, Lads, before something in this creepy place grabs us." He shivered, him and his men setting to work at a fast, steady pace.

In the dark of night there really wasn't much to see. Obelix found himself wandering the streets, staying to the more inhabited areas, as Volumetrix had suggested. He was quite uneasy, his mind filled with frightening tales of the city's rather unwelcoming atmosphere. From what he could gather, Namnetes was a place beaten down by the defeat at Veneti, but had not been destroyed, like their neighbor. But Volumetrix spoke of a different sort of decay, a rotting of peoples souls. Thieves were common the merchant had said, and other forms of crime was a problem. Few examples of kindness remained, and it was only Volumetrix's directions to a friendly inn keeper that gave Obelix a little courage. He knew well enough that, even should someone give him trouble, he could easily defend himself. It was just, without Asterix, the large Gaul was feeling rather lost. And maybe even a little frightened. Frightened because never, in his life, had he ever been truly alone as he was now.

Following Volumetrix's instructions, Obelix finally found the inn. It was old, and rather broken down, but the inn keeper was indeed friendly. Unfortunately, the inn itself was full, occupied by many travelers who were staying the winter, and there was no room for another. The man, however, let Obelix sleep in the stables, with no cost. Telling Obelix to stay low, since Roman soldiers had been about, the inn keeper left the Gaul to his own devices, and Obelix settled down on a blanket of thick, fresh hay. After a day at sea he was hungry again, and even after the chicken leg that he had been offered by the inn's owner, his stomach still grumbled for more. He wasn't fond of chicken, but he wasn't foolish enough to refuse it. He ate it and laid down, hoping that the next day would bring brighter times, and more food. As he closed his eyes, his mind wandered back to the village.

He could almost see his friends, snug and warm in their beds. Free, even in a land occupied by the enemy...

* * *

 **From what I understand, there was once an island off the coast of Namnetes that was inhabited by only women. These women only come to shore looking for men, but would then leave back for their island without them (if you know what I mean). But that's not the weirdest or worst of it. These women were said to take down the roofs of their temples and rebuild them all in the same day, and if one of them dropped their designated load, the other women would literally tear that woman limb from limb and leave her strewn all around the temple...YIKES!**


	15. Cold and Cruel

The air in the hut had grown stale and cold. Frost crusted on the inside of the windows, making it nearly impossible to see out, but by the pale light trickling in, it was easy to assume it was early morning. A cold, bitter, fearful morning. It was still dark in the blacksmith shop, which only succeeded in making it feel colder. One longed for the warmth of the sun, just a little, to combat the chill in the air that numbed the skin and bit into one's bones. The wind could be heard outside, sweeping through the village to bombard the side of Fulliautomatix's cottage, some of its bitter breath forcing through the cracks in the woodwork and brushing against the shivering people within.

The quiet, depressive atmosphere was broken only by the persistent coughs and the occasional sneeze of the shop's occupants. Several of the Gauls had been unwell to begin with, even with care and the warmth of their own beds. Now, sniffles had turned into rough coughs; coughs had turned into heavy wheezing, the cold air causing their conditions to worsen. Even Vitalstitistix found himself among those who were feeling out of sorts. His throat was terribly sore, and his head pounded loudly in his ears. Geriatrix had developed a small fever, though there were others less fortunate. Cacofonix, who had been the worst by far, even at the beginning, before this whole mess, was now far worse. His coughing fits, which were loud and harsh, always left him gasping at the end, and it was very hard for him to stop. The cold air hurt his lungs, which only aggravated the coughing more. This went on all night, but no one complained. It wasn't like they were getting any sleep anyway. Those who were in better shape took care of those who were not, trying to ease whatever discomfort they might be suffering.

Impedimenta patted Cacofonix's back as the bard came to the end of yet another, violent fit. It left him breathing harshly, his hands curled up at his chest, which was surely beginning to ache. He fell back to leaning against the wall as the chieftain's wife shifted her hand to his shoulder, sadly taking in his exhaustion. She shifted her attention to her opposite side, where a little girl, no older than five, snuggled against her for warmth. The tiny form shivered with cold, and no manner of rubbing or wrapping up in blankets could stop it. Around them, all the adults were doing the same. Those who were well enough, held children to their sides, giving what comfort and warmth they could spare. It was a sad sight. Almost enough to make Impedimenta cry.

She looked up from her two charges, gazing to her left, where her husband and Fulliautomatix stood. Vitalstitistix had his arms folded around himself, his nose red from the cold. Impedimenta sorely wished she could give him some of her remedies. His eyes were gazing down at the floor, blankly, his mind struggling for a way out of all this. And beside him, the blacksmith paced nervously.

Fulliautomatix was taking his new, temporary position very seriously. His mind too was racing for some kind of answer. His pacing, which succeeded in making him feel only slightly less useless, was limited. He could only walk so far in any direction, before either running into a wall, or a fellow Gaul sitting or lying on the floor. But pace he did. At least it was helping him stay awake. His stomach was hurting, from the vicious punch Lycurgus had given him the night before. He was certain there was a nasty bruise there somewhere, but had no intention of checking. Not right now.

Impedimenta gently extricated herself from the child at her side, handing the little one off to the closest person with a free hand. She gave Cacofonix one last pat, then stood stiffly to her feet. Moving only reminded her of how cold the room was, her breath visible as little puffs in the air. She was sore from sitting crouched all night long, but she bravely ignored the discomfort. She made her way forward, until she joined her husband and their newly appointed warrior. "They're...They're getting worse," she whispered hesitantly. "The little ones are getting the sniffles. Geriatrix has a mild fever, and some are worse off." She sent a glance over her shoulder at the bard in the corner. "And Cacofonix's cough is really starting to worry me. It's deep in his chest, and even breathing has become very...painful for him." She gazed worriedly up at her husband's face, noticing the way his eyes seemed to hold a mix of fear and uncertainty. It was a look she had not seen in quite a while, and she had prayed she would never see it again. Taking a gentle hold of his arm, she noticed something, tracing her finger along a spot on his upper limb. He flinched, and pulled back a little, but she had already seen what it was. Those brutes had held him so tightly that they had left painful bruises, shaped of their fingerprints in the man's pale skin.

Vitalstitistix tried to ignore Impedimenta's look of worry. He understood her alarm, but he was far more alarmed than she could ever understand. Why, oh why had he ever let those travelers inside? Hadn't he learned his lesson with Mastix? What was it the Venerable Druid had said to him, in what felt like so long ago? _Do you always allow such uncommon strangers into your domain so freely._ That was what he had said. And it had stung. It still stung, even more now that he could see it was true. Guilt from then returned full force. How could he let this happen? He had tried to become more aware of the dangers outside the village, having learned that just because they had a druid, a warrior, a super-strengthen companion, and some Magic Potion didn't make them invincible. It made them reliant on those things. And he had relied on them too much. _Far_ too much. He promised himself that next time he would be more careful. Next time he would be more suspicious. Next time...

If there would even be a next time.

"What are we going to do?" he muttered weakly, such hopelessness and fear wrapped up in that one question that it was a wonder he didn't collapse in despair right then and there.

Fulliautomatix exchanged a glance of worry with the chieftain's wife. "Lycurgus will be back soon," he pressed as gently as he could. "He's going to want an answer...What should we tell him?"

"What _can_ we tell him?!" Vitalstitistix cried, in his stress forgetting to keep his voice down. The villagers all looked to him fearfully, eyes wide and frightened. The chieftain flinched at his action, lowering his voice at once to a desperate whisper. "We can't give Lycurgus the Magic Potion! Do you know what he'd do with power like that?!"

Fulliautomatix felt his stomach drop at the thought. But there was yet another thought that frightened him more. His eyes roamed the full shop, at the Gauls who had all settled down once more, trying to protect each other from the cold. The sight made his shoulders slump, a tightness growing in his chest before he turned his gaze back to the chief. "But what will he do if we refuse? What will happen to us? To them?" He held a hand out toward the others, his limb shaking ever so slightly in anxiety.

Vitalstitistix became very pale, and the look of fear that crossed his features was stronger than ever before. But then a sense of stubbornness returned, a spark of the courage the Gauls were so well known for. "We'll...We'll just have to take things as they come. We'll stay together, stand as one. If we go down, we go down together. But we can _not_ let him have the potion." Even as he said it, a heavy weight settled in his heart. "We can't." He had risen his tone, catching the other Gauls' attentions, this time on purpose. His resolution spread, a small sparkle of defiance growing in each of them. They all agreed, as one, that they would not give in to Lycurgus. They would not.

"Good," Vitalstitistix nodded. "Then when he comes b-"

 _SLAM!_

The door to the of the shop was forced open violently, a blast of frigid air charging in, carrying wisps of snow into the room. The Gauls all gasped, startled to their feet so that they could shift as far from the door, and the dark figure standing on the threshold, as possible. Vitalstitistix and Fulliautomatix instinctively placed themselves between the villagers and Lycurgus. They were nervous, and an icy grip of fear was struggling to take hold, but both men fought it back down, their courage strengthening those at their back.

Lycurgus stood in the doorway, eyes adjusting to the darkness, the crowd of huddled Gauls slowly coming into focus. He let his gaze drag over every pale face, staring into the windows of every soul. His expression was stern, determined, haughty; but not necessarily cruel. All business. No nonsense. At his back stood the two men who he always seemed to have at his side. They were the largest of the Greek travelers, and very strong. They stood behind their leader as Lycurgus slowly stepped into the room within, awaiting his orders.

Beside him, almost unnoticeable next to the supposed might of her husband, Agafya stood small, her hands curled beneath her chin and her eyes wide, as though afraid. Her gaze slowly took in the villagers, the people who had taken her and her people in. And now, here they were, prisoners in their own home. She looked as though she strongly disagreed with it all, but was far to afraid to speak against what her husband was doing. She met Impedimenta's gaze, and quickly turned away, ashamed. She and the chieftain's wife had grown so close...only for her people to betray them. For _her_ to betray them.

Lycurgus finished his observing, placing both hands behind his back calmly, and when his voice reached them, there was steady warning in it. "It is morning, and I have come to get my answer." Lycurgus settled his eyes on the chieftain. "Tell me what it is that gives you your strength." It wasn't even a question, instead more of a command. The Greek would never stoop so low as to beg for the answer. Not from these worthless people.

A collective shiver ran through the Gauls as they exchanged quick, frightened glances, before their determination hardened. As one, they all crossed their arms over their chests, gaining expressions of total, immovable defiance. They refused to tell him anything.

Lycurgus's eyes narrowed, but he stayed unnaturally calm. There was no yelling, of threatening, or beating, like the Gauls had partially expected, but Vitalstitistix thought he saw a spark of anger in the man's eyes. A dangerous, hateful spark that was just waiting to be released. Lycurgus would be taking the next step now, and the next step was what the chieftain was so deathly afraid of. Vitalstitistix watched the Greek carefully, his mind racing in anxious circles.

Lycurgus stood still a moment, absorbing their answer with stoic silence. It was unnerving, and the Gauls recoiled into one another, afraid of his reaction to their defiance, even if they still had no intention of giving in even then. The Greek's eyes slowly wandered over them all, seeming to be searching the crowd of frightened faces with care. His eyes lit upon Unhygienix's youngest son, zeroing in in a way that caused the child to hug closer to his parents. Again he moved his gaze, this time landing on Geriatrix, then Cacofonix, and a look of satisfaction crept into his face. Raising a hand to each of the three, he directed his two main men with a quick command.

"Them."

The Gauls all looked at one another in confused fear as the two brutes came forward, heading for the three indicated members of their village. Vitalstitistix and Fulliautomatix stood their ground, planning to block the way, but the were shoved aside roughly. Mrs Geriatrix gave a cry of horror as the first man approached, and she hugged her husband with great fear, clutching his night tunic, kicking out at the large Greek with her bare foot.

"No! Leave him alone!"

But there was little that she, nor any of the others, could do. The elder was roughly dragged to his feet, his wife's hands tugged unceremoniously from his clothing. He didn't cry out, or even assault the fellow with his usual angry name calling, but instead saved his breath for fighting, which, without the Magic Potion, proved quite useless. He was feeling ill from the fever; dizzy and shaky. He could not break free.

The same traveler reached for Unhygienix's smallest son. The fishmonger stepped in front of his little one, a look of frantic protection on his face. He was willing to put his life on the life for his family, but his efforts proved just as futile as the others. With a violent shove, the tall Greek pushed him aside, causing him to fall back against the wall with a loud bang. With a shriek, the child was yanked from his mother's arms, stumbling as he was dragged, along with Geriatrix, toward the door.

The second lackey had gone after Cacofonix, and had found the bard a bit more of a challenge. Bigger than either of the other two, he put up more of a fight, kicking out when the brute grabbed a hold of him. The Gauls around the bard tried their best to help him, pulling on him in a sort of tug of war. Cacofonix could feel the activity aggravating his cough, but he held it in, keeping himself safe being his main concern at the moment. But, even then, they all lost in the end. With a vicious kick of his own, the Greek winded Cacofonix enough to tip the scale, pulling him into the middle of the room and then over toward the door. The Gauls' frightened shouts became ones of anger, and, had they been allowed to continue, they might have all rushed forward to help their friends. But Lycurgus gave a loud shout, catching their attention when he drew his sword, holding it toward his three captives. The Gauls' eyes widened in horror, afraid of what he might do, and backed down to silence.

"No, don't-" Unhygienix, recovered from the knock he had received, froze next to his terrified wife and remaining child, eyes locked on their younger family member. Horrified of what was happening, and yet afraid to step forward and endanger their little boy and friends even further.

Lycurgus surveyed his prisoners with satisfaction. "Good. You're listening." He gazed slowly at each worried face. He nodded to his two men again, and the door leading outside was roughly opened. "Now listen further." He gestured to the snowy nighttime world beyond and, with an easy swing of their arms, the two lackeys tossed Geriatrix, the little boy, and Cacofonix outside into the cold. They landed in the snow with audible gasps, their poorly protected bodies all at once unshielded in the elements of winter. Before they could rise and run back in, the door was shut again by Lycurgus with a loud, foreboding slam.

The Gauls inside were frozen with confusion at first, until the seriousness of the matter seemed to dawn on them. They all gave a cry, rushing forward a few steps, before backing up fearfully. Lycurgus nodded in confirmation.

"It is cold out, and your friends are not dressed for this weather, is that not true?"

He knew they weren't. They all knew. Having practically all been dragged from their beds, many of the Gauls didn't have anything on their feet, dressed in nothing but their sleep-shirts and shorts. They knew from the experience of being forced from their homes through the snow to the blacksmith's hut how cold it was out there. They knew very well.

"I chose those three for a reason," Lycurgus continued. "The old man, because of his age. The cold gets to the elderly quickly. They have no resistance against it. He is frail, and the cold will dig at him quite soon. The little boy is young and small. He too has no resistance against the frigid force of winter. And the third is thin and weak. He appears ill. He won't last long out there either." Beside him, Lycurgus missed the look of horror that was fixed on his wife's face.

There was a terrible silence, in which the door of the hut was suddenly assaulted by the pounding of fists and the cries for help from those on the other side. The Gauls inside paled considerably, the woman covering their mouths with their hands, tears forming in their eyes. The men tensed, shaking with anger and fear. Unhygienix and Bacteria gripped one another, eyes closed, each cry of their son stabbing into them like daggers in the heart.

Vitalstitistix took a shaky breath, eyes pleading. "Lycurgus...Please...Please, let them in!" Several other calls for mercy rang out among his people, all pitiful and filled with great fear. Even as they did so the banging on the door was growing weaker, the cries softer. It froze their minds with terror at what was happening, fueling their panic. "Please!"

Lycurgus gave them a stern glance. His emotions were stone, nothing even resembling compassion in his eyes. Only stubborn intent and insistence. He looked at the door, the sounds beyond it having turned to only one with any strength left in it. "They'll freeze to death," he stated matter-of-factly. "Unless you comply." His face hardened. "Tell me the location of this strength that you posses."

A terrible, tense silence reigned in the hut, as each and every Gaul was faced with a choice between two evils. Either way, the answer was unthinkable. To give the Magic Potion to such a man as this, would be something with grave consequences. But, then again, Geriatrix, Cacofonix, and Unhygienix's little boy were trapped outside, and if they remained there...

The choice was easier when put like that.

"Alright!" Fulliautomatix cried out suddenly, as though it were a cry of pain. He stepped forward, as every eye within the hut shifted to him. "Please, just let them in! I'll..." He swallowed, feeling slightly sick. "...I'll show you where we keep the Magic Potion." He lowered his eyes to the floor, not being able to bear to look at any of the others. They were all staring at him, expressions shocked, and yet, they had all been just about to offer the same thing, even if they didn't want to admit it. The blacksmith had just beat them to it.

Lycurgus turned to the sturdily built Gaul, eyeing him calculatingly. "I'm glad you're seeing reason," he said slowly, with just a hint of mistrust. For all he knew, the blacksmith could be trying to trick him. But Lycurgus could deal with that. He could deal with anything. Or anyone. The Greek leader gave a nod to his men. "Let them back inside."

With a violent jolt, one of the large men grabbed the door and jerked it open to a pitiful sight. Standing out in the cold, Geriatrix and Unhygienix's son had huddled up against the taller body of the village bard. All three where shivering hard, eyes closed, bodies curled inward in a futile effort to keep warm. When the door opened suddenly the threesome looked up, startled, the fear showing in their gazes, along with a dazed, hazy expression, the cold having started to get to them. They blinked sluggishly, not seeming to comprehend that they were being let back indoors, and so Lycurgus's follower reached out and grabbed Cacofonix by the arm, pulling him roughly through the door. It caused the bard to stumble over the shorter two, who fell forward with him, and the three ended up in a cold, quivering heap on the floor of the hut.

Unhygienix was the first one to reach them, followed by Fulliautomatix and Vitalstitistix. The chieftain gave Lycurgus a hateful glare, trying to help shift those under his care as far away from the door and the Greeks as possible. He might have given into the urge to send a punch into the smug leader's face, if Geriatrix had not grabbed an unsteady hold of his green sleeve. The old timer was very confused, having trouble getting back onto his feet. His wife came forward, taking him from Vitalstitistix and leading him back worriedly. Unhygienix hugged his son close, rubbing the little boy's shivering form soothingly, whispering words of comfort. With his free hand he was trying to assist Fulliautomatix and Vitalstitistix in getting Cacofonix up off the floor. Impedimenta scurried forward to help.

"Please!" The chieftain's wife found herself doing something she had promised herself she would never do, kneeling beside their trembling companions, she lifted her voice and begged. "Please, give us some wood! We need a fire to warm them!" Her panic grew as she took in the groggy condition of the three victims. If she had thought Cacofonix was bad before, he was deathly pale now. Each breath he took seemed to take tremendous effort. Geriatrix was unnaturally quiet and still, even though he was obviously awake. And Unhygienix's little boy was shivering so hard it was as though he would hurt himself through the convulsions. "Please, or they'll die!" It was the truth. While now inside the hut, it was still terribly cold within, and unless they could be warmed, they would only grow worse.

Lycurgus seemed unmoved, his dark eyes watching them with little emotion, and it was very unlikely that he would change his mind. But then, so slowly that it felt as though an hour had passed, Agafya hesitantly raised a hand to her husband's bare arm, laying it ever so lightly upon it. His head turned, looking down upon her, face still hardened in determination. Agafya shivered, but continued with what she had been going to say. "Please...My Lord, they do not deserve death...the child, he is so young. The old man and the blond one have harmed us not...Please...Please, my husband..."

For a moment, it seemed that her words might have been in vain. But then, slowly, like the melting snow of spring, the sternness in Lycurgus's eyes dimmed slightly, revealing just a hint, a very small hint, of tenderness; but it only lasted a moment, before it was hidden from view once more. He turned to the Gauls, who flinched just from his gaze. "For her sake, I shall grant you that. My men will bring you wood. Be grateful." He turned to leave, directing his two guards to grab a hold of Fulliautomatix, who allowed himself to be taken willingly, sending a warning look to his friends not to try and help him. The Gauls anxiously complied.

As he passed his wife, Lycurgus gave her a low warning, slight betrayal in his tone. "Beware, my wife. Pity is a crippling weakness." And with that he led the group out, the door to the hut slamming shut behind them.

Immediately, the blacksmith shop descended into quick, organized chaos. Blankets were gathered from those who knew they'd be fine without them and piled and draped upon the three shivering Gauls. Impedimenta and the women did their best, wrapping the poor dears up as snugly as possible. It wasn't much, but it would do until Lycurgus's men brought them some wood for the fire. Even though they had every right to believe that the Greek was lying, they didn't even consider it. Lycurgus, tyrant or no, was still a man of his word. Wood _would_ be brought.

Unhygienix and Bacteria huddled in close to their son, trying to provide just a little extra warmth for the child. The fishmonger felt torn by his emotions, stuck somewhere between rage and tears. He felt like punching something, most of all Lycurgus, and yet felt the fear and horror at what such a man might do in retaliation. And so, with nothing else to focus his anger upon, he shifted it to Fulliautomatix. "What is he _doing_?!" he declared desperately. "We won't have a chance if he gives them the Magic Potion! He'll betray us all!" He didn't mean a word of it, but his terror was getting the best of him, filling him with doubt.

Impedimenta was busy with Cacofonix, wrapping the young man in one of the extra blankets she and the others had found. His skin was ice cold, and violent shivers wracked his body. His breathing was shaky, and his eyes still held a look of unbridled panic. But he glanced up at the fishmonger's declaration, trying once or twice to speak before anything actually came out, and, even then, it was shivery and reedy in pitch.

"...I...I-I d-don't...think h-he will..."

* * *

 **Here we go! Another chapter, and in a relatively short length of time! Whoohoo! Thank you all for baring with me, even though I have not been able to post as often as I would like. You are all awesome, so thank you! ;)**


	16. Tipping the Scales

Fulliautomatix had never liked being pushed around. Even when he was little, he had always made sure that if anyone was doing the bullying, it was him. He had never meant any harm by it, and, thankfully, he grew out of that pretty quick after Obelix had gained his strength, but that mindset had followed him to adulthood. It was why he still clashed with Unhygienix, who was almost as equally stubborn as himself. It was his way of making sure he was still in charge of something. His thoughts and beliefs were his own, whether it was what the definition of fresh fish was, or who he thought ought to sell the most wares. And he held true to them, because he would not let others tell him what to do. It was why he always made sure he was heard, and gave his opinions so strongly. He didn't like to appear weak. He didn't like to be the one who had to be under another. In fact, it had taken him years to respect Vitalstitistix as chief. Because they had grown up together, taking orders from his friend had not been an easy transition at first.

No. Fulliautomatix hated being forced into anything he didn't agree with. Which was why it took him every ounce of his remaining will to refrain from punching his captors right in face. He was very strong, even without the Magic Potion, but with a sword tip pressed to his back, digging in slightly between his shoulder blades, he imagined that doing so could end very badly. He wouldn't be any help to the others if he was dead.

Luckily, he had shoes on his feet, so the snow didn't bother him like it would have the other Gauls, most of whom were barefooted at the moment. He had not gotten a chance to undress for the night before Lycurgus had taken over the village, and was therefore more equipped for being out and about than the others. Not that it wasn't cold. The wind whipped all around, causing ice crystals to jump up and sting against the blacksmith's skin. But his frustration kept him internally warm, as he was marched forcibly through the village.

As Lycurgus and his men escorted him, heavily guarded, in the direction Fulliautomatix had indicated as the way to Getafix's hut, the blacksmith tried to figure out what he would do once they got there. There was no way he could fight so many men, and he doubted Lycurgus would let him take a sip of potion to even the odds. He couldn't make a run for it, he'd be cut down before he could blink. And he couldn't give them the potion. He couldn't. Oh, he could show them, but he'd do anything before he'd even consider truly handing the precious drink over to such evil hands. He wasn't sure what Lycurgus would do with such power. Nothing good.

This was all so new, and so foreign. Usually he was more of a follower than a leader. He took orders from those more capable than himself, whether he liked it or not, but always voiced his thoughts. But now, he was the main pillar of strength for the village, and the strain and weight of the situation was immense. The blacksmith found himself trying to put himself in Asterix's place. To see the situation as the true village warrior would have. It left him with an enlightening experience. Was being a warrior really so...uncertain? Was this how Asterix felt half the time? This feeling of everyone counting on your every move, your every choice? To know that if you made a wrong decision everything could be lost? If so, Fulliautomatix wondered how Asterix could possibly cope with such a responsibility. Even now, the Gaul's heart was beating wildly, thumping away in his chest as though threatening to suddenly stop. His mind was running in circles, wading through the dangers and fears and worries that he just couldn't seem to conquer. He couldn't think straight. He didn't know what to do. And he was running out of time to come up with something.

The cold wind licked at his bare arms, his leather apron flapping loudly in the breeze. After a cold night in his shop, this was torturous. Like throwing salt in a wound. But the blacksmith grit his teeth, led roughly by the enemy until they stood outside of the thin, wooden door of Getafix's hut. Lycurgus paused, looking at the Gaul expectantly, firm and unamused, until Fulliautomatix carefully reached forward and pushed the door open. He was made to enter first, forced through with a jolt, while the Greeks stayed back. He supposed that Lycurgus expected a trap of some sort, and preferred that a Gaul take the risk rather than him or his own people. After all, the thing that gave the village strength would by considered very valuable to most. It made sense that the Greeks would suspect some sort of defense to protect it. Fulliautomatix realized that that might not be such a bad idea. Not that it would help him much now.

As soon as it was deemed safe, Lycurgus steps in behind Fulliautomatix, forcing the blacksmith to the side with a threatening shove. "Where is it?"

Fulliautomatix's only answer at first was a deep, hateful glare. Lycurgus caught it, returning it with a calm, stern gaze that sent shivers up the blacksmith's spine. Fulliautomatix was trying to stall, and trying to contain his formidable temper. He was known far and wide, just as his father had been, for his hot-headed anger. He was easily riled, and his stubbornness only enhanced it. Fulliautomatix stood with his back against the inside wall of the druid's hut, teeth and hands clenched in an effort to control himself. He knew, somehow, that that was what Lycurgus was waiting for. For the blacksmith to lose his temper. That would justify more show of force, which seemed to be something the Greek craved. And Fulliautomatix was determined not to let that happen. It was bad enough that they had forced him this far. He knew the minute he showed this monster the Magic Potion, everything would be lost.

Or would it be?

A small idea came to the Gaul, slow and hazed even now in his growing panic. It seemed risky; childish almost, but of course, Fulliautomatix had always been full of ideas when he was a small boy. They often left him in trouble, but they had also often accomplished his goals, whatever they may have been. And right now, it was the only idea he had. Lycurgus would be furious, but Fulliautomatix didn't care. He was perfectly willing to put himself in harm's way if it meant keeping the others safe. His mind kept wandering to the haunting sound of his friends banging frantically outside the door, the cold slowly claiming them. That was enough to finalize his decision. And whatever happened afterward, happened. He'd take full responsibility. He had to.

Lycurgus was suddenly in his face, causing the blacksmith to jolt back against the wall, snapped out of his thoughts. Lycurgus's dark eyes bore into the blacksmith's own. His voice threatened, and it was all Fulliautomatix could do to keep his cool.

"Where is it?!" he demanded again, a little more force to his tone and stance.

It reminded Fulliautomatix of how some Roman centurions got in the faces of their soldiers, as he had seen once or twice when the Romans had tried their hand at trying to defeat the Gauls. It was a funny thought, for a very unfunny situation. There was a tense moment between the two men, in which it looked as though the blacksmith was not going to comply. Lycurgus's men let their hands stray to the hilts of their swords, ready to hand out punishment at a moment's notice. But then, reluctantly, Fulliautomatix pushed himself away from the corner he had subconsciously backed into, and led the way to the back of Getafix's hut.

The druid's home was more complex than the homes of the Gauls around him. Having lived in the ancient catacombs beneath the Carnutes for most of his life, it only made sense that Getafix's cottage would reflect it in some small way in its design. Nothing compared to the great halls and chambers of the druids, but a fair amount of rooms and corridors. Or, at least, as many as could be fitted within the frame of the average, Gaulish hut. It was into these that Fulliautomatix led his captors, his mind struggling to keep control over his incessant worry.

Coming to the end of the corridor, Fulliautomatix paused once again. He felt physically sick over what he was about to do. But it was for the village. If Asterix had been there, he would have done the same thing, though, perhaps with a bit more of a plan. The blacksmith cringed at Lycurgus's increasingly impatient voice.

 _"Well?!"_

Fulliautomatix half turned to him, though he kept his eyes fixed ashamedly on the floor. He had to make this believable. He had to make Lycurgus think he was beaten. With a slight tilt of his head, he indicated the closed, wooden door before them. "...It's in here."

Lycurgus nodded, but didn't move. "Open it."

Slowly, reigning in his anxiety, the blacksmith reached forward and opened the door with a long, loud creak. It's hinges were worn and old, from years of use. It was a wonder the board hadn't just dropped off at this point. The slight downhill slope of the room carried the door inward, and it swung open tensely, until it lightly banged against the wall behind it. The room was well lit, a few windows illuminating the area quite efficiently. The blue light cascaded in, catching on the many parchments, tomes, and bottles of various kinds filled with powders and potions. But the object that was most noticeable, was the large, black cauldron sitting at the room's center, over an open fire that was no longer burning. From within it came a glow all its own, a gold warmth that had saved the lives of the Gauls time after time. Here, it was safe, in the back rooms of the druid's hut, where Getafix had started storing it ever since Obelix's incident when he was a little boy. It was to prevent any other youngsters from befalling the same fate. It had been for the safety of all, for the village, and for the secret of the Magic Potion itself.

Until now.

Lycurgus pushed through, his eyes filling with an excitement that seemed strangely foreign to his face. His guards followed him, forcing their captive in as well. Fulliautomatix quickly moved to the corner, out of reach, where he stood, watching and waiting for his chance. The Greeks seemed very little concerned with him at the moment, all eyeing the potion with awe and greed. Their leader walked forward slowly, as though approaching a god. Hands outstretched, he came before the mixture, until its glow illuminated his face.

"At last...the secret of strength is ours," he breathed, reaching out to touch the liquid, but then pulling his hand back in reverence. "It will make all our dreams come true," he hummed to his followers. "No longer will we be under the cruel hand of our captors. No longer will their be need for violence ending in bloodshed of our own people. We will be so strong and mighty, not even Rome, and its pompous, old fool, Julius Caesar, will be able to stand against us. They will try, but we will stand tall and safe within these walls. No more shall we cower. No more shall we toil to our deaths for another's gain and another's amusement. We shall, at last, be free!"

"At whose expense?"

Lycurgus's eyes, which seemed abnormally wild in the half-light, lifted slowly to meet those of Fulliautomatix, who had stepped forward and spoken. His gaze was steady and calm, but somehow held a great threat that once again made the blacksmith shudder. But still Fulliautomatix continued.

"Who will you hurt in the process? Us? The Romans? Your own people? You talk of the cruelty and senseless suffering your captors put you through. And now that you are here, you are performing the same acts of cruelty and senseless harm on my people. You're becoming the very thing you came here to escape," the Gaul said boldly, even though his heart was pounding, making him feel distinctly sick. "You came here to escape violence, and hate, and injustice, but you've brought it right along with you!" He braced himself. "You are the very monster you've been fighting. You have become your own worst enemy!" He swallowed nervously, gritting his teeth with almost an expression of pain on his face. His eyes flitted to the cauldron before him, a look of determination in his eyes. "Which is why I can't let you take the potion."

Lycurgus's face went from mild confusion to sudden understanding. He stepped forward, all at once knowing what the blacksmith was about to do. But it was too late. With a violent kick, Fulliautomatix sent his foot smashing into the cauldron's side. The action hurt, and the blacksmith winced with the sudden pain. The cloth, sack-like shoes the Gauls wore were not meant to protect from such a blow, but it had done the trick. The cauldron tipped, far too quickly to be caught, its precious content spilling all over the floor. Fulliautomatix was proud to see that he had aimed his kick accurately, hitting the brim in just the right way so that the weight of the Magic Potion carried it further, flipping the cauldron completely upside down.

The Greeks all released sounds of horrified distress, even Lycurgus, as they all leaped forward to scramble for the upended pot. Frantic, they righted the cauldron, discovering it was now completely empty. On the dirt floor of the room, gold swilled, crackling slightly as the dry earth soaked it up at a frightening speed. Before anything could be done, every single drop of Magic Potion was gone.

For a moment, Fulliautomatix felt a burst of pride run all through him. He knew he had taken a terrible risk, but this certainly solved the problem of the Magic Potion. Sure it made it so that the Gauls didn't have any, but it also meant that Lycurgus couldn't get his hands on it. He wasn't sure how he knew, but deep down, the blacksmith knew he had done the right thing. The anguish he had been feeling in his mind and heart all at once cleared, filling with a warmth and certainty. It renewed his determination and courage to the point that, even as he felt Lycurgus's sword suddenly up against his neck, he barely even flinched. He had expected the Greek to lose his temper. He had been counting on it.

Lycurgus was barely containing his rage, hand quivering as he held the sword to the Gaul's throat, trying to reign back his anger before he killed the blacksmith. Even so, a red line had appeared on Fulliautomatix's flesh, the blade stinging as it cut slightly. The Greek ground his teeth, piercing eyes boring deep into Fulliautomatix's own. His breathing was ragged, while, somehow, the blacksmith's breaths were slow and even. There was little fear in his eyes, and that unnerved Lycurgus. It unnerved him considerably.

"That was very foolish, _Blacksmith_." The dark, threatening words grated out like steel against steel. "I was considering having you join my group of followers. Your bravery and strength, that you posses from your occupation alone, would have made a formidable addition to our people." His eyes shown with hate, the sword weighing down just a little bit harder. He was close to the breaking point, but his eerie calm was fighting back, taking control. "But now you have lost that privilege in my eyes."

Fulliautomatix returned the glare, undeterred. Even with his back pressed hard against the wall, sword nicking his skin, he was focused solely on his foe. "If you had ever asked," he hissed evenly, "I would have refused! I would never join you or your cause!"

Lycurgus's eyes grew even colder. "Very well then. Your lot is thrown in with that of your weakling friends." Reluctantly, he pulled his sword away from the Gaul, even though he did not step back. Eyes still threatening, he managed to keep his temper to a minimum, that strange, unnerving calm that he always bore returning. "Who made this?" He pointed stiffly to the dark stain in the dirt where the Magic Potion had disappeared.

Now that was something Fulliautomatix was perfectly fine with telling. "Our druid, Getafix!" The blacksmith could no longer hold his own temper. "The man _you_ sent away to help 'find' Obelix! With no good intentions I'm sure!" His tone held nothing but scorn, matching Lycurgus's own, but with a lot more passion and force behind it. "And he'll be back with Obelix, and Asterix. And then you'll pay for the trouble you've caused!"

The Greek's eyes narrowed, but refused to be taunted by someone at his mercy. The blacksmith had chosen his fate, and that would be punishment enough. Growling like an animal, Lycurgus stepped away, turning his back and commanding his men with a stiff gesture. "Take him back with the others. Then call a meeting." He sheathed his sword. "We have much to discuss."

Once again Fulliautomatix found himself being pushed around, but he held back his anger, and allowed it. He had almost just pushed Lycurgus to his limit, and Fulliautomatix knew it. The Magic Potion had been the prize above all prizes for Lycurgus, and he had been willing to do anything to get his hands on it. Even hurt others. The blacksmith had been worried at first that if he destroyed the Magic Potion, Lycurgus would no longer have any reason to keep him and the villagers alive. But then he had realized that, knowing that Getafix would more than likely return, Lycurgus would now need something to force the druid to make more of the potion. There wasn't much of an improvement between being prisoners and being hostages, but at least it meant they might stay alive a little longer. Fulliautomatix wasn't sure where Getafix was, or Asterix for that matter. And Obelix was completely out of the picture at the moment. But as long as Lycurgus had a reason for keeping them, the Gauls would do their best to survive.

The walk back to the blacksmith's shop was just as cold the second time around, and Fulliautomatix was a little slower than before. Kicking the cauldron, though effective, had not been the healthiest course of action. Now limping, he supposed he had twisted his ankle. Nothing he couldn't handle, and nothing that wouldn't correct itself in a few hours, but definitely a major inconvenience at the moment. The longer he took to walk, the more aggressive his captors became, until they practically threw him through the open door of his own shop, right into the worried, waiting hands of his fellow villagers.

The guard who had shoved him grinned as the Gauls tried to untangle themselves from their tumble under Fulliautomatix's burly weight. "Lycurgus says you can keep the fire. He's a man of his word, unlike you. Enjoy it, while it lasts." With a slam of the door, they were gone and the Gauls were once again left alone.

* * *

 **Sorry, guys, this chapter's a little short. My family has been really sick. I'm the last one to get it. Couldn't even join my extended family for Christmas, and had to stay home alone. But it did give me a little time to write. I'm on vacation now, so hopefully I can write more often. Though I won't make any promises, since I can never even begin to guess how long it will take to shake this annoying sickness. Or what the days ahead will offer as far as time allowing me to write. ;)**

 **Thanks! For both your patience and the fact that you all continue to read my story. I hope everyone had a merry Christmas!**


	17. Plannings

Fulliautomatix let out a shuddering sigh, feeling the warmth of the fire reaching out to him and taking away that numbing cold. But it did not take away that numbness from his mind. He was at a loss for words. Lycurgus was fighting for a cause that, in and of itself, wasn't such a bad thing. After all, all people had a right to be what they were meant to be. Free. The blacksmith was against slavery, as was the rest of the village. To want to be free from that was understandable. But Lycurgus was taking it too far. He was going about it all wrong. He, in his unstoppable charge to reach his goal, was committing the same atrocities to the Gauls as had befallen the Greeks under the hand of the Romans. It just didn't make any sense. How could Lycurgus not see what he was doing? What he was becoming? What he had become.

The villagers who had caught Fulliautomatix when he had been tossed in through the door, carefully steadied the far larger man on his feet. The blacksmith felt a cold hand on his bare arm, and looked down, greeted with Vitalstitistix's worried gaze.

"Fulliautomatix..."

He didn't need that sentence to be completed. Fulliautomatix looked up at the many, frightened faces. They looked so uncertain, as though they weren't sure they could trust him. He knew they were afraid he had betrayed them, and given Lycurgus the Magic Potion. The blacksmith felt a small thrill of anger at the thought. Didn't they know him well enough to understand that he would never do anything like that? But his anger subsided just as quickly as it had arisen. They were scared, just as he was. No one knew what to think anymore.

Fulliautomatix held up both his hands in a reassuring gesture. "No. No, I didn't give him the Magic potion. There isn't any now." He rubbed his arm with his hand, partially for warmth, but also out of nerves. Now that he was back where it was relatively safe, he couldn't help wondering if what he had acted correctly. He was almost afraid to tell them what he had done, afraid that they would disagree with his actions. Afraid that he had made a fetal mistake.

Impedimenta pushed her way through the crowd of cramped Gauls, so that she could study the blacksmith, her eyes full of concern. She observed how tense he was. How stiff he had become, and the way that he looked as though he either wanted to fight or flee. Her mind jumped to all manner of conclusions, of what might have happened. Of what Lycurgus might have done. But speculation would only bring up thoughts that would frighten her. It was better to know the truth, pure and simple.

"What do you mean there isn't any now?" Unhygienix voiced, also looking uncharacteristically worried over his rival's pale, anxious appearance.

The blacksmith looked to him, meeting his gaze, and then dragged it over the faces of the others. "I...um, brought Lycurgus to Getafix's hut. And I _did_ show him the potion." He paused, uncertain. "But then I...kicked it over." He flinched, not sure what the reaction to that would be. He had basically dumped out their only hope. Or, at least, that was how it felt. There was a silence, the only movement being a series of blinks, before Vitalstitistix spoke.

"You...kicked it over?" He blinked again. "The Magic Potion?"

Fulliautomatix nodded nervously.

There was another silence, but then someone chuckled, ever so softly. The chuckle grew and spread, smiles turning into grins as the Gauls all suddenly burst out laughing. Fulliautomatix looked as though lightening had hit him, eyes almost crossed in his confusion. His reaction only caused more mirth, and the Gauls laughed even harder.

"That's how it's done!"

"Can you imagine? By Toutatis!"

"I can just picture Lycurgus's face!"

It took several more moments for the excitement to settle, tears of amusement in all their eyes. It was the first real good laugh any of them had had in a while. And though they all knew there was certainly plenty to worry about, they were willing to let it slide for just a few moments.

Still chuckling, his face red from the effort of reigning in his laughter, Vitalstitistix gave the still confused Fulliautomatix a loud clap on the back. "That's...Th-that's the best plan I've heard yet!"

Fulliautomatix shook his head, a small smile forming on his face before it faded. "I...I did the right thing then?"

The Chieftain nodded with a deep breath. "It's the only thing you could have done in this situation that I can think of. And I didn't think of it. Here we all were, thinking we were about to lose. That you were going to give away the secret that would bring destruction down on us all..." He watched as the blacksmith cringed a little. His face softened. "We should have more faith in you," he said simply. "Sure, we no longer have the Magic Potion...but neither does Lycurgus." Vitalstitistix smiled in approval. "You did well. Asterix had better watch his position as village warrior." It was a joke. No one could ever take Asterix's place, but it did succeed in spreading a full grin across the blacksmith's face.

From the corner, Cacofonix's rough and dry voice cheered. "I-I knew he wouldn't give it to them! He-" His words suddenly dissolved into desperate, horrid coughing. It was far worse than before, rattling in his chest, which he gripped tightly, eyes clenched shut.

Impedimenta quickly made her way to the bard's side, kneeling and laying a hand on his arm in comfort as each hacking jolt shot through their friend. Her eyes lifted in worry to meet Vitalstitistix and Fulliautomatix, who had followed her. "He needs Getafix." It was all she could think of that would have helped. Since Lycurgus's cruel act, the bard had only worsened. And that was really saying something, since he had been pretty bad to begin with. "He needs food, and water. We've got warmth, but who knows how long that will last." She rubbed a thumb over the pale wrist as Cacofonix's fit finally came to an end. He was panting for breath, and his eyes seemed sort of glazed over and moist.

Fulliautomatix frowned, crouching down across from Impedimenta, on Cacofonix's other side. He would always have been worried if any of his friends had been hurt or sick, but now that he was village warrior that feeling had intensified. Seeing anyone in this much discomfort was heartrending. He could barely stand it. Laying a hand on the bard's shoulder, he watched silently as Cacofonix groggily met his gaze. Giving the slightest nod, the blacksmith looked back up to Impedimenta. "How about the others? Geriatrix? Unhygienix's son?" He glanced about the room, searching for the individuals. Most of Gauls had returned to keeping warm, huddling either as close to the fire as they could without being burned, or simply gaining heat from one another. They were paying very little attention to the whispered conversation in the corner.

"They're alright," Vitalstitistix assured. "Geriatrix is sneezing, but that's pretty normal for him this time of year. And Unhygienix's boy is doing fine, after we managed to calm him down a bit." His face saddened. "Lycurgus really scared him."

Fulliautomatix nodded slowly. "So he's the worst off?" he asked, nodding back to the bard.

"Yes," the chieftain's wife agreed. "By quite a bit."

The blacksmith rose back to his feet, a look of determination taking over his expression. Hands clenched and angry, he let his temper flare without even trying to stop it. "We're getting out of here," he growled. "We just have to find a way out."

* * *

In the hut that had previously housed the village Chief and his wife, Lycurgus sat sprawled in the Chieftain's throne. His eyes wandered over the various shields adorning the walls, remembering what the Gaulish leader had told him of their significance. It was an interesting way of commemorating the deceased leaders of their past. But he huffed, scornful. Weak sentiments. Nothing but weakness and sentimental cares. That was why he was in control of this village, and not the fat, little Gaulish Chief.

He growled in annoyance to himself. All that superiority, and he still hadn't been able to get one over on that blacksmith. The fool had made a grave mistake. No one turned the tables on Lycurgus like that. But the Greek found himself not carrying out that threat. He wanted to, certainly, but something was holding him back. An inkling. A feeling. _Something_. Something he couldn't place.

 _Monster._ That was what the blacksmith had called him. And, somehow, that struck a cord with the Greek. It had...hurt. The truth in the Gaul's words were undeniable, but still he pushed them away, refusing to listen to their wisdom. No! He was doing what had to be done. His people needed to be safe. They needed to be strong. In a world full of such cruelties and hate as the Romans had shown them, one needed to take what they dreamed of, with no regrets. Regrets were sentimental. Regrets showed weakness. And weakness was unacceptable.

"Um...My Lord?"

Lycurgus startled back from his thoughts, frowning angrily at the interruption. Before him sat his men, all looking distinctly questioning at their leader's lack of focus. Lycurgus quickly corrected himself. "Reports first," he demanded. "Then we'll discuss the more pressing issues of our little village."

Achates stepped forward first, his eyes suspicious, though he kept his thoughts to himself, having learned his lesson the last time he had spoken up against their unpredictable leader. He disliked Lycurgus. He disliked him a lot. He thought that he, personally, could do so much better at leading their people. If he was in charge, Achates would have dragged those Gauls out and forced them to do what he wanted. He wouldn't have waited, giving that blacksmith a chance to get the upper hand. For that matter, he would have just killed them all. That would solve all of their problems. But Achates knew that voicing such opinions would more than likely bring about his own death. For now, he'd keep silent.

Grinning, and pushing his thought to the back of his mind, Achates gave his report. "The women and children have settled in the Gaulish huts. There's plenty of room for us now. We've found their food storages, not that it's terribly exciting. Mostly just country foods; wheat and oats, some boar meat. Fruit. Vegetables." He shrugged. "Enough for the winter, though not if you plan on feeding the prisoners."

Lycurgus nodded, giving his follower a disapproving glare. "That's far better than what we got in Rome. You should be grateful. And I doubt that we shall be burdened with the Gauls for much longer." His tone was scornful. Dismissive. Belittling. And it fed Achates dislike of his leader even more, but still he kept silent. Now was not the time. Lycurgus moved his eyes back to the group of Greeks as a whole. "That blacksmith has made this far harder than it ever needed to be," he gritted. "He says that only their druid can make this magical potion that gives strength."

Achates huffed. "And you believe him?"

Lycurgus refocused his deep eyes upon his questioner. "Yes. These Gauls may be weak, but they do hold a certain amount of honesty. He was not lying." Standing, the Greek moved to the center of the audience room, eyes cast on the floor in concentrated thought. "We still have the upper hand. When the druid returns, he will have no choice but make us more potion. At the risk of losing his precious villagers."

One of the other Greeks turned to glance at his companions before sending Lycurgus a curious look. "But didn't we send Itylus with the little Gaul and the druid to make sure they did not return?" A look of surprise passed over his face with understanding. "You expect Itylus to fail?"

"I do." Lycurgus gazed up at the shields lining the wall again. "I believe we may have underestimated these Gauls. If Itylus has even half as much trouble dealing with those two as we have here with just one blacksmith, I suspect that the druid will return." He growled. "And that so-called warrior."

"And that big one?"

Lycurgus shook his head. "He will not be returning. He will reach Burdigala long before his friends ever reach him. We need not fear him. Soon, he will not be of a concern to anyone." He turned and walked rather wearily back to the throne, settling himself up within its seat. "Go. All we can do now is wait." He then ignored them, as though they were no longer there. They were dismissed.

Turning, with a glare, Achates led Lycurgus's followers out of the hut. As they came to the door, it opened, permitting Agafya to enter. She shrank under their angry gazes, and quickly shifted aside. Lowering her eyes, she waited until they had passed, and the door had closed, leaving her in silence, with her husband. She looked over at him. He wasn't even looking at her, and she suspected he wasn't aware of her presence just yet. He appeared deep in thought, hands clutching the arms of his throne, eyes staring up at the shields up on the left wall. Lost in thought. He looked frustrated, and distracted.

Stepping forward, Agafya hesitatingly approached. "Lycur-" She quickly corrected herself. "My Lord?" His eyes shifted to hers, softening slightly. She cringed, knowing that he would soon lose that fondness in his gaze when he heard what she had come to say. "I wish to speak with you..."

Coming down from his throne once more, he stood before her, towering over her in height. He was intimidating, even when he wasn't trying to be. "What is it my wife?"

"I...I am afraid that I am still having...concerns about the Gaulish villagers..." She winced as Lycurgus's expression turned to one of annoyance. "Please...They have small ones, and elderly, and some of them aren't well..." Mostly because of her husband's treatment, though she would never have dared to say so out loud. Even thinking it made her cringe. "I-I know they are the enemy...and I know that it is a weakness to feel worried over them...but I...I just can't help it..." She cast her eyes to the dirt floor of the chieftain's hut, afraid of what Lycurgus would say next. "Surely there must be another way, My Lord, than this?"

There was a long pause, and, at first, she was too frightened to look up. Lycurgus had never hurt her, but she had seen him deal with the insolence of others, and vaguely wondered if he would take the same measures with her, wife or no. But when she finally got up the nerve to raise her eyes, she found him smiling at her fondly, in an almost pitying manner. He had given her that look before, though not for many years. It was a tender look, rare, in that he never gave it anymore. Not since their younger days, before they had been captured and sent to Rome. Agafya found herself mesmerized by it, fascinated with the prospect of Lycurgus smiling, even if now it was in a rather belittling way.

He came forward, placing a hand against her cheek, bending down so that he didn't tower over her so much. "Agafya..." It was the first time in what felt like an eternity that he had addressed her by her true name. He shook his head sadly. "The strong must survive, otherwise our Sparta would be full of weakness. I must do what I must do. I promised you years ago that I would lead us to a world of safety and peace. That promise still stands, my wife. I will make us a home, here, away from danger."

Agafya pushed against his hand, but closed her eyes, a few tears trickling down her cheeks. "But must we do it like this? Why cannot we find another place? Build our own village, and leave those here alone?"

He frowned, pulling away from her, his tenderness gone, like it had never existed. "No. Here is the new Sparta. We will be strong. And those who are weak, will be excluded from that promise."

His wife was fighting back her sorrow. This was not the young man she had once loved with all her heart. The fellow who had been perfectly happy with their life, no matter where they lived, or how much they had. He was different now. Stiffer. Angrier. But seven years in the arena could do that to a person. She hated it. Hated what it had done to him.

"But...I'm not strong," she replied weakly.

For a moment, that tenderness flashed in his eyes, before being smothered out again. "I will be strong enough for the both of us."

* * *

It is never really very pleasant waking up in a stable, of this Obelix was now thoroughly decided. Straw, lacking the wool sheets he was used to, could become incessantly itchy, especially against his bare arms and back. Then, of course, there had been the animals. Not that the large Gaul disliked them, he loved all creatures, big and small. But waking up to a chicken in one's face was not his idea of a wake up call he would want to repeat. He had been confused at first, wondering where he was. But his memory soon returned, and he felt a small ache in his chest, knowing that he had really done it. He had really left the village. But, all things considered, Obelix couldn't really find anything to be sorry for. He was doing this for the good of them all. Even if it left him feeling a little uneasy.

Obelix had really slept quite well. He had dropped off almost immediately, and, despite a few rather unsettling dreams that he couldn't truly remember clearly, he had gotten the rest his body had required.

And now he was hungry.

 _Very_ hungry.

Thankfully, the inn keeper's wife had made a hearty breakfast, though Obelix again found the servings quite a bit too small for his appetite. But he said nothing. Though he craved more, he knew enough than to ask these poor individuals, who probably barely had enough food to feed so many guests in their inn. It made Obelix a little guilty that he had nothing to pay them with. But, after arranging a few chores with the owner, he soon earned his food and resting place, and a few coins, the inn keeper even offering him a steady job, in exchange for room and board. But Obelix declined.

Thanking the inn keeper and his wife for their offer, he made his way out into the city of Namnetes. He did so carefully, mindful of all those around him. He even managed to dodge a threesome of Roman soldiers. Asterix would have been proud of his stealth. It wasn't easy for a man of his size to remain hidden, but Obelix was happy to find that, with the right motivation, he could do so fairly well. But it wasn't easy, and soldiers patrolled the streets, quite faithfully too, making sure that none of the city's residents and travelers caused any trouble. Obelix quickly became irritated with all the ducking and dodging he was forced to endure, and quickly decided he was very much interested in leaving the city as soon as possible. The only problem with that was that he still had no clue as to where he should go. He knew he wanted to get to Burdigala, but he had no way of knowing how to get there. He was used to Asterix dealing with that kind of thing on their adventures.

Silently wandering the streets, Obelix decided that what he needed were directions. A map would be preferable. But maps were scarce in Gaul. In fact, the only ones Obelix had ever seen were those that Getafix kept in his archives. The druid had made most of them, and the larger, more extensive ones had come from the Carnutes. So the question remained of where he could get one to lead him to Burdigala.

He actually ended up finding an old merchant on the streets, down by the docks. He was an odd, ugly fellow, who smelled more of fish than a man. He was selling his wares and had called out to Obelix, asking what he was looking for. Obelix had quickly explained his problem, and the merchant had smiled deeply, in a way that the Gaul didn't exactly like.

"Burdigala, eh? That's a long way from 'ere..." He snickered. "But it just so happens that I've got a map leading there, by the quickest route I might add." He pulled a crumpled bit of parchment from his tunic, handing it toward Obelix, but pulling it back before the Gaul could take it. "Ah, ah. First we need to discuss payment. What have you got, traveler?"

Obelix did not appreciate the man's manner, nor the smell of his breath. But he complied, fishing out the few coins he had earned at the inn and handing them over. The merchant gave them a disgusted look.

" _This_ is all you have?"

Obelix shrugged, upset. "I left the village without any kind of money," he declared. That probably had something to do with the fact that the Gauls in his village didn't use money. They traded with each other for things they needed. The one time they had used money had been a disaster. Reading the look on the merchant's face, Obelix felt his spirits drop. "I suppose I can see if I can find a cheaper map somewhe-"

"Oh no! This is fine!" the merchant cried, snatching the coins to his chest. "This is just fine. Here, the map is yours. Happy journey!" And with that the odd fellow pushed the old parchment into Obelix's hands and disappeared down a side street, leaving the Gaul alone. Obelix blinked after him, feeling rather rushed, but then shrugged.

"These Nemnetites are crazy."

Taking the map, he carefully unfolded it, noticing that bits of dried paper flaked off and floated to the ground at his feet. Finally succeeding in opening the thing without ripping it, Obelix held the map out in front of him, studying it. It was a wreck. Hardly decipherable, it was so faded. And it looked as though a child had drawn it. Obelix's heart sank a little further, remembering something he had neglected to consider. He had forgotten. He couldn't read a map to save his life. But the map was clearly marked with a symbol that Obelix remembered seeing several times in the marketplace and streets of the place he was now in.

"This must be Nemnetes," he mumbled thoughtfully. "And people keep saying that Burdigala is down from here." He stared at the map, noticing a faded line that had been drawn. "Maybe if I follow this, it will lead me to there from here. The merchant did say that this map was for Burdigala. So it must be." Steeling himself, he grabbed what little belongings he had, and headed in the direction the line indicated, due East. He was on his way again, and nothing would stop him now.

He hoped.

* * *

 **Happy coming New Year everyone! Wow, 2016. Sounds so futuristic. Beam me up, Scotty. -Ahem.**

 **Well, here's another chapter. I'm enjoying my break so far, and I want to thank you for all the well wishes over my family's sickness. The cough is still clinging to us, but my mother is the only one now who's actually sick. But she's getting steadily better.**

 **Well, that's all. :) HAPPY NEW YEAR!**


	18. Following Behind

It was a pleasant day, considering how cold and white everything was. The sky above was clear blue, and there wasn't a single cloud to be seen. It was as though someone had taken the sea, turned it to crystal, and then thrown it up into the atmosphere, where it spread as far as the eye could see in all directions. It was beautiful. The chill in the air was crisp, but not that bone-freezing cold from the day before, and for that Asterix was extremely grateful. He really wasn't much of a winter person. Oh, he liked it just as much as the next Gaul, he supposed, but that was when he was in the village, where he could simply step inside a warm hut when he began to shiver. But, out deep in the forest, there were no such comforts. Out here, if you were feeling chilled, you could only grit your teeth and bare it. Which was exactly what the small band of travelers were doing.

Walking slightly ahead was Getafix, who, thanks to his large beard and wool robe, seemed to be taking the weather in his own stride. Leading the way, he studied the signs around them, of the day and its niceties. It had stopped snowing, which was a blessing, but the air still felt bitter to one's lungs. The druid had given each of his traveling companions a potion, meant to warm one from the inside out, an invention he was most proud of. Asterix had taken it willingly, as had Dogmatix, the pup licking it from Asterix's hand with great enthusiasm. Itylus, on the other hand, had refused to take it. Foolish, stubborn man. Getafix couldn't help but feel frustrated with the fellow's superiority induced beliefs. It was beliefs like that that might bring about Itylus's demise, if he continued in his ridiculous practices. But at the same time, Getafix also felt worried. It was just who he was. Druids were trained from their earliest years to care for others, and, by this time, it was almost instinctual. Getafix figured that when Itylus became cold enough, he would accept his offer. He just hoped that would be before the lad collapsed.

Itylus walked in the back as usual, where he could keep an eye on his two companions. Shivers threatened to wrack his body, but he refused to let anyone see, shoving the feeling deep inside himself, which only proved to make him colder. But he would not give in to the ways of the weak. _They_ needed potions to keep them going. _They_ needed warmth. Ha! Silly ridiculous nonsense. Someone with true strength would not be bothered by the weather. Would not be bothered by the chill in the air that only worsened with the gentle breezes blowing in from the shore, which he knew they much be nearing. It was what Lycurgus had taught him, to stand on one's own strength, to dig deep and block out the discomforts, banning them. And Itylus was going to stick by those teachings no matter what.

His unfocused gaze settled on Asterix, watching the Gaul struggle along through the snow, which came almost up to the short man's knees. Despite his original contempt toward the small warrior, Itylus couldn't help but feel the slightest tinge of awe at the fellow's loyalty to his friend. Lycurgus would never have risked so much for one of his men. Even if it were Agafya, he doubted their leader would do much more than bow his head in a moment of grief, and then move on. But Asterix was risking his very life to brave the weather and bitter cold of winter, all for one individual. It was an action spurred by sentiment. And sentiment was weak. But Itylus couldn't help feeling that it was admirable. Very admirable.

The Greek knew that his orders had been to ensure that the Gaul and the druid would not return to the village, and had planned to fix the situation in his favor while still in sight of the village and it's surrounding forest. But now, curiosity plagued him, and, in some strange way, he wanted to see how far they could go. Just how far were they willing to go before the journey proved unworthy of the outcome. Could they truly brave such a trip? If not, the cold would soon claim them, and he could just turn around and leave them. But, if they survived...Lycurgus would never forgive him if they returned. And Lycurgus's wrath was something to be feared.

Asterix carried Dogmatix, keeping the pup close to his body, both to give warmth and gain it. It was hard, since Dogmatix kept squirming, wanting to run off and play in the snow around them, but Asterix was stubbornly holding on to him. If such a small creature grew cold and wet, there would be no way to warm him. Dogmatix was pretty tough, despite his size, but Asterix was afraid to take the chance. Obelix would never forgive him if he lost Dogmatix over a chill. So, even if the pup thoroughly disagreed, he kept a strong hold.

The short Gaul felt very tired, though he did his best not to let it show. The night they had spent in the cave had not been a comfortable one, due to the fact he had had no choice but to sleep on the hard, stone ground, with a broken arm. But the worst part of it all was the nightmares he had suffered all through the dark hours of the night. Unlike the ones he had endured over the past few months, these had not been about his encounters with Mastix. These dreams had been different, and abstract, but had filled him with terrible dread. The village. That was the only part he knew for certain was a factor. The village. Something bad. Dangerous. Fearing. Though, just what about it was lost on the restless Gaul. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. Something back in the village was happening, and Asterix sensed that it wasn't good. It gnawed at him, making him face a terrible decision.

Should he go back and help, without any proof of being right in his assumption, or should he continue after his best friend, who would die for certain if he didn't find him in time or turned back?

It was an impossible choice. One that pained him; burned his soul from the inside out. It was almost as though Mastix had never gone, and was still there, driving that immovable stake of doubt and fear into his chest. Even now, as they continued through the forest, on the trail of Obelix, it ate away at him, trying to cast him to his knees in despair. Even though he had already made his decision. Though he still felt uneasy about the village, Asterix had faith in his fellow Gauls. That whatever dangers they might be facing, they would do their best to fight it. But Obelix needed him. Obelix was out there, alone, and Asterix had a feeling that Obelix was terribly vulnerable at the moment. Strength and speed were all good and well, but what was the use if one lacked the drive to use them to protect oneself?

It was that thought, and that thought alone, that kept Asterix's feet facing the west, and kept his back against the way they had come.

"Just where is Burdigala, Getafix? I don't remember ever visiting there on any of our other journeys."

The druid gave a half-hearted smile to himself, amused that Asterix would be analyzing their direction and destination so intently. The Gaul had never been one to blindly follow. Even when it was Getafix, someone he fully trusted, he would always insist on the facts. He always wanted to know the where, the why, and the when. Getafix should know, he had had to deal with Asterix's extensive curiosity for over thirty-five years, from the child who asked the endless questions to the adult who carefully considered all things. "No," he responded thoughtfully. "I don't suppose you ever have. Burdigala is a very old place. There was once a great battle, in which it was a part, along with many of your none-too distant relations. The tribes of the Tigerini, under the leadership of Divico, went up against the Roman Republic. It was a strong defeat for the Roman Republic, and I imagine it is still a sore spot in their history. Since then, Burdigala has grown and flourished, becoming one of the most rich and luxurious cities in all of Gaul."

Asterix raised a brow. "Even under the shadow of the Roman Empire?"

"It would seem so," Getafix shrugged.

"They are strong then."

Both the Gaul and the druid startled slightly at the unexpected intrusion of the deep, low voice of Itylus. So much so that they stopped and turned to face him. The man had not spoken conversationally since leaving the village, and even then it had not been to either of them, Asterix most of all. Getafix smiled at the strapping, young lad, who he was glad was finally feeling comfortable enough, or lonely enough, to speak.

"To have lasted as long as they have," Itylus clarified, undeterred by their attention on him. "Those riddled by weakness could not have done so."

"You and your people put an awful lot of stock in physical strength, don't you?" Getafix asked carefully. He waited for Itylus to catch up with them before continuing on their way, for the first time all of them walking together, rather than in a line.

Itylus puffed out his chest proudly. "Lycurgus has taught us as much. Strength is what kept us alive in Rome, and it will continue to do so. Those who are strong survive. Strength, therefore, is everything."

"Really?" Getafix chuckled. Even though, for some reason, the man's thinking unnerved him slightly. "I hate to disagree, but physical strength is not the only strength there is. Many have made that mistake in the course of time, and it has always turned out to be their greatest weakness..." He paused, suddenly very uneasy. "And it often leads to their destruction." His tone and change in demeanor implied that he was no longer talking in the general sense, but was thinking of a very personal example. Mastix had been one of great power, a druid's idea of strength, and it had indeed been that that had destroyed him.

The Greek beside the druid noticed his changed manner, as well as the abrupt shift in mood that had suddenly descended upon both of his traveling companions. It was a dark, stiff, sickening mood, telling of something important that would never be forgotten, even though it was greatly wished that it could be left in the past. Uncertain, and uncomfortable by the concept, Itylus stored the feeling away with note, but did not pry any further into Getafix's words.

They crested a steep hill, struggling against the snow and ice. By this point, it was midday, and the sun was shining on their backs, giving a little bit of warmth against their clothes and bare skin. Getafix leaned forward, squinting against the white glare of the snow, before a smile graced his bearded face. Extending his arm, he pointed, his voice giving a hidden cheer. "There. We have nearly arrived."

"At Burdigala?" Itylus asked, shielding his own eyes, only to frown as the druid gave his question a laugh.

"Oh, no, my friend! We are still far, _far_ from Burdigala!" Getafix tried not to sound too amused. "This is the first stop in our journey, and, hopefully, our last. According to my calculations, this is the direction in which Obelix chose to travel, either by knowledge of the route or total ignorance, of which the later is more likely to be true. Obelix has no understanding of maps, but he does have a sense of general direction. He knew that if he headed for the sea, he might find someone who could direct him to his destination. And he is right. I only hope that he is still here, so we can catch up to him before he moves on."

Asterix's curious eyes scanned the shoreline, spotting the coast dotted by numerous buildings. They lay black against the white of the snow, and grey against the icy waves of the sea. "What is this place?"

"It is called Veneti," Getafix replied sadly. "And it is a place shadowed by destruction and ruin." He noticed Asterix questioning glance and clarified. "Not all places in Gaul are as lucky as us, Asterix. Rome's grip is iron, and their swords are sharp. Veneti has long since fallen to both."

The short Gaul nodded sagely, his eyes gleaming with determination. "Then we must be careful."

"Mm," the druid agreed, already on the move down the hill. "And swift. Veneti has a rather unusual feature."

Itylus caught up in three strides, noticing with a hint of amusement that Asterix was struggling to keep up, fighting against the depth of the snow. He turned his gaze back to Getafix. "And what is this feature you speak of?" He truly was curious, and he was tired of the silence he had kept since leaving the Gaulish village. Boredom drove him to conversation, even of a man well along in years and weakened by age. Though Itylus had to admit, the elder could certainly move when the need arose. No elder he had ever known would have been able to come nearly this far.

"The homes are built so that, when the sea's tide is high, they sit upon a series of small islands. When the tide is out, they rest on a series of peninsulas." Getafix nearly slipped, before gaining his balance, continuing in his explaination as though nothing had happened. "It's an impressive tactic, since it prevents any outsiders from attacking easily by land or sea. By land, it is hard for anyone to march across such moist terrain, and by sea it is too dangerous, for fear of being bashed against the coast and its islands."

Asterix frowned, slipping a little bit himself. By the sea, the cold breeze and moister had frozen much of the snow to crusty ice, with soft material beneath it. It made it difficult, and rather painful, to navigate, the thin layer scraping against his legs if he tried to hurry to quickly. "But that mustn't have been enough," he concluded. "Since you said that it is now under Roman rule."

"That is true," the druid confirmed gravely. "Not long ago, a battle ensued. Veneti lost, and nearly all were either killed or sold into slavery. A fate often worse than death." He shook his head with a shudder. "All who remain now are lingering merchants and a few survivors. We must be very careful. Hard times makes desperate men."

When they finally reached the shore, where the cluster of ruins and half erected homes stood out dark and lonely, the travelers, even Itylus, were cold and hungry. But Asterix, determined and anxious to find his friend, refused to rest until he either found Obelix or confirmed he was no longer there. He led the way through the semi-deserted streets, following Dogmatix as the pup sniffed and hunted for any scent of his master. Getafix and Itylus followed close behind, the Greek annoyed by the Gaul's hurried persistence. Itylus was hungry, and was beginning to reconsider his thoughts on humoring these two any longer. Returning to the village would mean warmth and food. And yet, even now, cold and hungry, he found he was compelled to remain an observer. Getafix, on the other hand, was just as stubborn as Asterix was in searching every street. His age did not impede his progress, often leaving Itylus to catch up. The druid's eyes, though peeled mostly for Obelix's large form, were also scanning for danger, of which he always had a keen wish to avoid.

Asterix rounded a corner, hot on Dogmatix's little heals. Getafix and Itylus were behind him, he was sure, though his speed had taken him from their view that last turn. He had a growing dread growing within him that Obelix had already moved on from Veneti, and the subsequent panic that thought invoked was only fed by the fact that, if their large friend was already gone, they did not know the route he had taken.

The streets gave him a very uneasy feeling. A dark, cold, depressed kind of feeling, as though the very cobble stones beneath his feet spoke of some great tragedy that had taken place. His light within him dimmed with foreboding, as if it knew the suffering and death that had ravaged the place only a short time ago. It made him want to leave; go anywhere but stay in the ruined city. With each twisted frame of an abandoned home his eyes beheld, the more grief and anxiety he felt, as though all the stress and fear from the battle long gone still left a tangible essence he could detect. He hated to think that Obelix had been in this place, all alone. While he knew Obelix was not nearly as sensitive to such premonitions and senses as he was, being a Solas Anam, he knew that Obelix's child-like innocence was easily influenced. And Asterix could only hope he had been immune to the darkness that still stalked the streets of this sad city.

As he rounded yet another corner, Asterix felt his body suddenly brought to an abrupt halt as something lashed out and grabbed his injured arm. The grip alone would have been enough to send pain shooting up the limb, but the added jolt sent agony raging up and down his whole frame. He let out a strangled cry, his eyes watering as he stumbled back a few steps to relieve the pressure that was still on his arm. Through slightly blurred vision, the Gaul turned to the large, meaty hand that had struck out against him, gripping him tightly. A man, a merchant of sorts, sitting on a stoop he had just been passing, grinned at him with a yellow, deformed smile, eyes filled with a look Asterix did not like. Beside him, Asterix heard Dogmatix give a growl.

"Watch'yer hurry?" the fellow slurred, his hand not letting up, but holding the blond Gaul securely in place beside him. "Go'n somewhere?"

Asterix took a shallow breath, try unsuccessfully to steady his nerves and gain some control over his sudden panic. It wasn't just the pain of his injured arm that was rattling him. If that had been the case he would have taken a swig of Magic Potion and swung a punch into the guy's mangled smile in a second. But, unfortunately, it was much more than that. And it had now frozen him in place. That arm, the one even now that was throbbing in the merchant's hand, was the same one that Mastix had gripped in his own iron hold only a few months ago. It still felt like only yesterday. Memories of the evil druid's cold, dark eyes flashed across his mind, mixed with a reminder of how tightly Mastix had snatched his wrist, uttering hurtful words as the druid had forced him to the place he had almost died by Mastix's hand. The memories caught Asterix by surprise, stunning him, momentarily crippling him. The merchant was graced with a look from the Gaul that very few people had ever seen.

A look of genuine fear.

It felt like an eternity before he could find his tongue, despite it only being a few moments, but when Asterix did, his voice was strong and threatening. "Let. Go."

The merchant only grinned more widely, finding some sort of sick pleasure in the small individuals pain and fear. He smelled of wine, and had the appearance of a man who has not bathed in years. He was one of those folk who find entertainment in the suffering of others, whether for personal gain, or simply to pass away the boring hours of their pathless existence. He was a thief and a bully, and those were his only aspirations. "Aw, come now," he chortled, his foul breath reeking of hunger and bad drink. "Hand over yer belongings and maybe I'll take it easy on y-"

He got no further, for at that moment, Asterix's tenuous grip on his nerves suddenly broke, and with a rare show of blind action, the little Gaul pulled back his free arm and punched the merchant square in the nose with an audible crack. Without the use of the Magic Potion.

The merchant gave a roar of pain and surprise, his head snapping back as he released the Gaul's arm to clutch at his blubbery face. He had not expected such a reaction from one so slight, and, while it had stunned him, it had also enraged him. Leaping to his feet, the man bared his teeth like an animal as Asterix stumbled back a few paces, the Gaul truly surprised by his own actions, almost as much as the merchant had been. "Why you little-!"

What might have happened next, Asterix would never know, for at that moment, Getafix and Itylus caught up to him, both stopping short and blinking at what must have been an unexpected scene. The merchant, intimidated either by the presence of a druid or a man strong enough to beat him silly, possibly both, cut off whatever he had been about to say. An expression of forced innocence and charity spread across his face in the form of a crooked smile. "Ah, my friends! What can I do for you?" He sent Asterix a glance that promised retaliation once these new 'customers' were gone. But that soon disappeared as Getafix carefully, and rather suspiciously made his way to Asterix's side.

The druid had sensed something was wrong the moment Asterix had left his sight, and had hurried forward, longing to round the corner and get sight of him again as soon as possible. He had managed to do so on record time, even though that was even longer than he had liked. Rounding the turn he had halted, confused to see that Asterix had not only stopped, but was in the company of someone else. A very unsavory fellow who looked like the type of person he had wanted to avoid in this place. While the scene, as a whole, had appeared fairly innocent and harmless, something about it just screamed 'wrong' to the druid. He wasn't sure just what. Maybe it was the way the man seemed to be towering over Asterix, or the suspicious bruise that was forming on the merchant's face. It might even have been the way Asterix was standing, guarded and stiff. But the thing that had stood out most, no matter how brief, was the fear Getafix thought he had seen in his friend's eyes. It had only lasted a fraction of a moment, only as much time as it took for Asterix to register his presence, but Getafix was almost certain he had seen it. And that was what made the scene far less normal than it should have.

Asterix seemed fine now, though a look of defiance glared up at the merchant with disapproving intensity. Getafix stood close, giving the merchant his own brand of fake pleasantness.

"Have you seen, these last few days, a very large Gaul in these parts? Bare chested, blue and white-striped clothing, and red, braided hair?" It wasn't the most flattering description of their friend, the druid had to admit, but it certainly was true. They didn't have time to cater to what Obelix _thought_ he looked like. Finding the menhir deliveryman was a matter of life and death at this point. Obelix was obviously not in Veneti, which meant he had moved on. To where was their next concern.

Realizing that Asterix was with these two, formidable persons, the merchant hid his anger and gave Getafix's question a moment of serious thought. A grin broke out on his pudgy face, a sparkle of greed in his eyes. "Maybe I 'ave and maybe I 'aven't. What's in it fer me?" The grin was wiped off his face as Itylus, in three swift strides, was all at once an inch from his nose, eyes boring into his.

"We could tell you," the Greek growled dangerously. "But I doubt you'd like it." He drew back a fist, making it quite clear what the man's reward would be should he withhold a single word. Occupied, Itylus missed the look of surprised amusement that passed over Getafix's face behind him.

The merchant stumbled back, hands shakily held up in front of himself. If the little Gaul's punch had hurt, this one's would be much more than was worth anything he might get from a deal. "I was just joking! I was just joking!" he cried defensively. "There was a fellow by that description around here nearly two days ago."

Asterix, now fully recovered from his odd behavior, stepped forward, his gaze filled with a commanding mix of hope and concern. "Where is he?"

"He left on one of the ships from the docks, one under Captain Volumetrix," the merchant answered, not even giving Asterix a hostile blink. He had abandoned all ideas of fighting the little man for the moment. "I saw him helping Volumetrix load his cargo. That's probably how he earned passage."

Getafix nodded worriedly. He hoped that this Captain Volumetrix was a kinder, more trustworthy character than the one before them. "Yes, but passage to where? To where does his ship sail?"

The merchant sighed, thoroughly defeated. "To Namnetes. It's about as far as he can go with the bays and inlets filled with ice. Then he heads up north, back toward Britain, his homeland."

Getafix turned to Asterix, his mind quickly piecing together the more useful bits of information. "Obelix would have know that he needed to travel south. Britain would have been the opposite way he wanted to go, so he must have gotten off at Namnetes." His worried frown deepened. "I don't like the sound of that."

"Why not?" Asterix asked nervously.

"Because, if you thought here was unpleasant, Namnetes is even more so." He sent the merchant a suspicious look, especially when he noticed that Asterix had done the same. "That means that we're still a good two days behind Obelix." He mentally cursed. "That snowstorm last night really slowed us down, and Obelix has the advantage of going by sea." He turned his attention back to the merchant. "Do any other ships leave from here?"

"Not for several days or so," the man replied wearily.

Itylus crossed his arms over his chest, giving his two companions a pointed look. "We'll have to walk. It is a day or so's travel, but it is not impossible, even for you." His tone wasn't belittling, merely stating of fact. Getafix and Asterix weren't even fazed by it, having grown somewhat accustomed to their companion's superior behavior.

"I suppose that is our only option," Getafix sighed. "Come. Let's buy a few bits of supplies down by the docks and then leave. We've got a long way to go, and wasting time won't help Obelix in the least." He started off down the street with a determined stride, knowing the other two would follow. Itylus gave the merchant one last glare before following after the druid, completely missing the final sneer the distasteful man gave Asterix as the Gaul started to leave.

All Asterix could think of was how happy he would be to leave Veneti, and made a mental note never to visit it again.

* * *

 **Hello! I have good news and bad news.**

 **The bad news is that I have been SO sick for the past week. It's just been one thing after another, first migraines, then fevers, then sore throats and colds. One morning I couldn't even get out of bed, and literally slept all day long. And on top of it all, I got dehydrated. But, I think I'm starting to come out on the other side of this, so hopefully I'll be well before college starts up again.**

 **The good news (in some ways) is that I have decided to give this story my _main focus_. I always make the mistake of writing too many stories at once. So, unfortunately, if you are reading one of my other stories, they are going to be put on hold for a while. Oh, I might add a chapter for them here and there, but for the most part I'm making Give or Take my _priority_. So, thank you for all your support and loyalty to me and my stories. I just can't seem to balance four stories at once at the moment. :)**


	19. Snow and Ice

Obelix had never realized how often it snowed in winter. He had always enjoyed the slowly drifting flakes, as they gently and silently fell to earth, but he had always enjoyed them from the comfort of his hut and village. When he wished, he could simply go inside when the weather got rough. Or eat when he was hungry, settled by the fireplace of his own hearth. Or sleep in the warmth of his own bed. But out here, with no home to speak of, he realized that winter was far harsher than he had always believed it was. The wind whipped against his skin, blowing ice crystals against his bare arms, back, and neck. Even he had to admit that it was very cold, his skin taking on a abnormally pale look, even for him. It was true that the cold rarely effected him, by some strange effect of the Magic Potion, but this journey was pushing that trait to its limits. He could feel a chill slowly creeping inward, as though threatening that, when it reached his core, he would no longer be immune to its effects. He didn't like it, and his unease was backed up by yet another unpleasant revelation.

He was lost.

It wasn't even that 'I know I'm heading in the wrong direction' kind of lost, but more of the 'I could be anywhere' kind of hopeless confusion. All around him, the wind whipped, each blast sounding like a whine as it ran past his ears. His red pigtails streamed behind him, flapping in the persistent breeze, tickling along his neck whenever they lowered enough to touch. There weren't even trees at this point. At least, he couldn't see any. If there were any nearby, they were invisible through the white haze of fast falling flakes. All around, there was nothing but white. White, white, and more white. He would have given almost anything for a bit of color; a flash of red, a hint of green, a splash of yellow; anything. But all there was, was white. Boring, cold, blinding white.

With an air of frustration, Obelix looked down at the fluttering map in his hands, squinting to see the directions it gave through the blinding speed of the driving snow. He was beginning to think that it wasn't just his ineptitude with reading charts that was the problem, seeing as the parchment had been fairly easy to understand, even for him. But now, lost and increasingly confused, he started to wonder if, perhaps, that vendor had not been as honest as he had assumed. It occurred to Obelix that this map looked very much like any other map he had ever seen, with the exception of one thing. It didn't show a single thing he recognized. The scribbled landmarks were all of things he had quite honestly never heard of, and that was part of the problem. Another was that, now, as he gazed at the drawn in inscriptions, he realized that the map was incomplete. Certain parts of the directions went right off the parchment, making it virtuously useless by any and all standards.

Angrily, Obelix stuffed the map into his pants, letting out a sigh that condensed into a cloud of mist trailing behind him. It was starting to get dark. At least, he assumed it was. The white that surrounded him had tinted to a sort of light grey, and he could only assume this signaled that the sun was setting. Again he wished for the beautiful colors that the scene so lacked, imagining the golds and pinks of a setting sun. But no such show was forthcoming, and only grey remained now.

Realizing the urgency of his situation, the large Gaul began to quicken his pace, knowing that he needed shelter, and soon. Even he couldn't keep up his health in weather like this, and that cold feeling in his chest was reaching deeper and deeper inside of him, to the point where he was carrying himself stiffly, braced against the wind. It was a rather frightening sensation, and one he wished to relieve desperately and as soon as possible. But that seemed it would be long in coming. With absolutely no one, and _nothing_ in sight, rest seemed far from possible for some time.

And to make matters worse, Obelix was becoming exceedingly hungry. The bare minimum of food that he had consumed over the last few days had been just enough to keep him going. But now that store of energy was running out. The pangs of hunger were very unpleasant, causing his stomach to growl loudly, echoing in the whiteness around him. If anyone had been within earshot, they might have imagined a mighty beast, roaming the frozen wasteland. Perhaps that is where such stories of winter monsters first started. Either way, Obelix could feel his strength beginning to fail, mentally grumbling the fact that his greatest gift could also be his greatest curse. The Magic Potion had granted him super human strength. But such an ability needed a great deal of fueling, and for Obelix, that fuel was food. Without it, his energy dwindled down to a dangerous level, until he would slip into a deep, uncomfortable sleep. * He had only made it that far once, and he had no intention of doing so again.

Once more he gazed out at the white, flat landscape before him. Before him, behind him, and on either side of him; it was an endless, motionless wasteland. What he wouldn't give for the squeal of a good wild boar, even if he did lack the energy to chase it. He would have welcomed any distraction from the cold, and hunger. Even unwanted company would have been accepted with open arms and a formal greeting. But there was nothing. No one. At least, as far as he could tell.

"That settles things," the Gaul grumbled, snow crunching beneath his weight. "I can't even f-"

There was a mighty crack beneath him, and Obelix looked down in surprise as a long, jagged pattern spread out all around him. He felt it shift under his weight, creaking horribly. It took a moment for the Gaul to understand what was happening, before a thrill of fear gripped him, but by then it was already too late. With a groan and an almighty splash, Obelix crashed through the ice into the frigid water below it.

For a moment, he was completely submerged, nothing but the roar of water in his ears, along with the deep pounding of his own heart. Dark murky depths, shrouded in shadow was all he cold see when he tried to open his eyes. It was hard to tell which end was up, and which was down, all swirling together in confusion and that burning, numbing cold. Water colder than anything he had ever felt. It made his lungs seem to freeze inside his chest, tightening painfully, and that growing lack of warmth finally reached his core. He was sinking, but a few quick paddles upward finally brought him back to the surface, to the opening his body had made when he fell through the shattered ice. With a coughing sputter and a gasp he broke the surface, confused and frightened by the unexpected dip. The wind that blew across, what Obelix now realized was a frozen lake, hit the Gaul full in the face, freezing his wet hair and mustache with tiny crystals of ice. His helmet was gone, lost beneath the surface, but, at the moment, that was hardly important.

"H-Help!"

The word came unbidden to his lips, for even though his mind was running in frantic, energetic circles, his body had all but had enough. Hunger, cold, and mental and physical exhaustion had left him with even less strength than he had thought he had. Gripping at the ice surrounding the hole with stiff, freezing fingers, he tried to scramble up and out of the water, but with every attempt, more and more ice would simply break of, dropping him back in. Slowly, he began to realize that that meant he couldn't get out. Already he couldn't feel his legs, and he panicked even more, clawing at the ice, destroying more by the minute. It should have been simple. It should have been easy. But it wasn't. He was starting to shiver, his unique strength unable to hold up against the needles of frigid ice-water that had taken hold of him, and of which he could not escape.

"Help! Someone! Please, HELP!"

He could feel his energy waning, could feel his efforts getting slower and slower, weaker and weaker, even though his mind was screaming at him to keep fighting. That if he just worked hard enough, he could make it. But his mind was wrong. All that strength he had always been so proud of, failed him. With one final effort, he reached, eyes closed against the wind, praying that, somehow, this last try would save him. And, truth be told, it wouldn't have, unless a small hand had not grasped his own.

Even with his limbs numb with freezing cold, Obelix could still feel the small fingers wrap against his wrist and arm. Whoever it was, wasn't strong enough to hold his weight, and, for a moment, they both nearly fell into the icy depths. But then a second pair of hands joined the first, and these were larger, and stronger. With a mighty haul, the two individuals were able to add some leverage. Obelix used what remained of his energy to scramble over the ice. He felt his knee slam up against a jagged sheet of ice, and a slight sting told him, even in his half conscious state, that it had cut his flesh. But that mattered little. Too exhausted to care, he finally found himself out of the water, eyes closed and breathing hoarsely. He could vaguely hear the voices of his rescuers, but couldn't understand what it was they were saying. His ears felt as though cold, wet cotton had been stuffed into him, and the chill in his chest weighed down upon him like a great, heavy boulder.

And then he was being coaxed to his feet. At first, he nearly brushed them away, too tired to care whether he froze in the elements or not. But a gentle voice by his ear finally managed to convince him, and, with a wince, Obelix limped onto unsteady feet. His head spun, and he nearly fell back to the ground, but again those large, sturdy hands gripped him, throwing one of his arms up and over a strong back. The little hands, warm against his skin, tried to do the same, though, obviously, couldn't handle nearly as much of his weight.

After that, Obelix remembered very little. He grew colder and colder as he was helped along to Toutatis knew where, just trying to remain awake long enough to see the end of their trek through the snow. And then, finally, he felt the warm blast of heated air as they entered into, what must have been a room of some cottage or other. Obelix tried to open his eyes at that point, but all he could see was blurred colors. But how beautiful they were! Compared to that endless white, it was the most amazing thing in all his life, and he let out a small sigh of relief, sagging slightly in his rescuers' hold. He soon found himself on a bed room by the fire, a bit of water and something warm given to him, which he swallowed with all the passion of a drowning man, which he nearly had been. It warmed him, made him feel less stiff and pained. Even that chill in his core seemed to lesson, and, before long, he had drifted off to sleep.

* * *

'Finding a way out' had proved to be quite a bit harder than Fulliautomatix had hoped. His father had built the blacksmith shop a little too well, and any tools that might have been useful in breaking through the thick wall had been removed, courtesy of Lycurgus's men. That left very little as far as options went. Lycurgus had also sent someone to block off any way for the Gauls to climb up into Fulliautomatix's hut, leaving them with only the shop as their shelter. The fire, which had warmed things up quite nicely for a while, was beginning to weaken, becoming more ember than flame. Those who were young or unwell were shifted closer, so that they could glean what little heat remained.

It was getting quite cramped in there, what with so many forced into such a small place. But, in a way, that only supplied more body heat, which they gladly gave up the right of movement to have.

"This is barbaric," Vitalstitistix muttered under his breath, shakily, noting bitterly that he could just barely see his breath. He sat as far from the hearth as possible, leaving it for those who needed it more. It was colder, but at least it eased the ache in his heart a little. He had done it again. He had let strangers into their village in good faith, only for his trust to be misplaced. He felt angry, and fearful, and guilty all at once, and it gnawed at him all the more when he watched his own people shivering in the cooling room.

Fulliautomatix sat on the floor with his head in his hands, trying, as he had been for the last few hours or so, to think of some plan. Nothing was coming to him, which frustrated the blacksmith terribly. He nodded in agreement to his chieftain's statement. "And insane, which is exactly what Lycurgus is. How else could one justify this kind of heartless behavior?" There was a pause between them, in which they both listened to the soft murmurings of those around them.

Impedimenta had finally placed herself with the other women, having finally come to the conclusion that she could no longer do anything for those in less health than herself. Cacofonix was doing slightly better by the fire, children resting against his cloak, nestled in blankets. But all knew that would change the moment the fire would go out, which was fast approaching. The crackle of flame had slowed, and less smoke climbed the chimney. It was only a matter of time before it burned itself out.

Vitalstitistix sighed. "Where do you imagine Asterix and Getafix are?" He really just needed something to gain his attention. All this sitting and worrying was really starting to get to him.

"Probably half way to Burdigala by now..." The blacksmith's eyes gained the smallest flicker of hope. "For all we know, maybe they're on their way back right now. They'd fix everything. And then Obelix can teach these Greeks a thing or two about hospitality." He and Vitalstitistix gave a low chuckle at the thought, before they both fell back into depressed silence. "You know," Fulliautomatix said softly, "I never realized just how hard it must be for Asterix."

The Chieftain gave his friend a side glance. "How so?"

"Well, I always wondered at how nice it must be to not really have a job in the village. I mean, I toil all day long in my shop, working up a sweat. Unhygienix fishes and _tries_ to sell his wares. Obelix carves menhirs. It just seemed like Asterix had it so...easy."

"And you don't think so now," Vitalstitistix finished, the smallest of smiles crossing his face.

The blacksmith shook his head, almost with a shameful air. "No. I never realized the weight and responsibility that comes with being village warrior." He gazed up at the other Gauls, all of whom were completely unaware of their low conversation. "But now that I carry that weight and responsibility, I find I can barely manage to..." He paused, lowering his gaze again. "There's so much at stake. So many lives...all looking to me for help. I-I don't know if I can do it." He lapsed into a shaky silence, absolutely refusing to look his Chieftain in the eyes. For Vitalstitistix was looking at him very intently, and, for all the world, Fulliautomatix expected to be brushed off. After all, he imagined a Chief had just as many things, if not more, than a warrior.

But Vitalstitistix blinked slowly, taking in the blacksmith's words with a sense of sad understanding. "I know how you feel," he answered carefully, almost reluctantly, as though something were forcing him to speak. "When I first became Chief, I felt very much the same way."

Vitalstitistix had been very young when the position had been handed over to him. Barely even seventeen years of age. And the position hadn't even been meant for him. As the oldest son, the honor should have been given to Doublehelix, Vitalstitistix's brother. But a fierce argument between Doublehelix and their father had resulted in Doublehelix leaving the village to seek his own life. He never returned during their father's life, and when the old chieftain was dying, there was no one else to take his place. And so it was that the younger son had gained what, in all right, should have been his brother's, but which Doublehelix had no longer wanted. Fulliautomatix had still been quite young, and remembered kidding Vitalstitistix about it. But, as the years had passed, the young Gaul had proven right for the position, his courage and sensitivity to those around him making Vitalstitistix a wonderful leader. Perhaps even surpassing his father in that respect.

"When I first realized the position was mine," the Chieftain continued carefully. "I was...Well, to be honest, I was scared out of my wits. I had never wanted it. In fact, as a child I had often thanked Toutatis that I would never have the responsibilities that my brother would be destined to bare. In fact, I had plans of becoming a merchant, or something of the kind. I wanted to travel. See the world." He sighed. "But, apparently, that wasn't meant to be."

Fulliautomatix stared at his leader with a saddened sense of respect. It was not very often that the Chief spoke what was on his mind, least of all his heart. Even as a youngster he had been very private. To suddenly open up like he was now hinted that he was either feeling very overwhelmed, or very at ease. Most likely the former. But Fulliautomatix couldn't help the question that slipped from his mouth. "...Was it worth it?"

Vitalstitistix's eyes swept over the crowded room, before his eyes rose to meet his, and for a moment, it seemed he might say it wasn't. But then a smile, tired but genuine broke out in his expression. He raised a hand and clapped the blacksmith heartily on the back. "Every minute of it."

Everyone jumped when the door to the shop opened, just like before, with a bang and a blast of cold air. Several of the healthier men tried blocking the chill, so that those who needed so desperately to stay warm would be sheltered. Not that it did much good. What was left of the fire flickered, almost going out completely. A Greek, who the Gauls remembered to be one of the nastier men, stood tall and angry in the doorway. He looked irritable and huffed, as though whatever he had to say was very much against his better judgement or wishes.

"You and you," he demanded, his finger pointing out both Vitalstitistix and Impedimenta. "Lycurgus wants to see you. Now!"

The Gauls all turned to their Chieftain, half expecting him to refuse, even though they feared what that would bring down on their shoulders. Even Impedimenta waited with baited breath for his decision. Finally, and with very visible defiance, Vitalstitistix rose from his place beside Fulliautomatix and carefully made his way to the door, taking Impedimenta's hand firmly in his own as he passed her, and then led her forward. They stood in front of the Greek, Achates they finally remembered, looking up at him with a sense of anger and fear. The man hardly gave them a second glance. With a shove, he forced both out the door, giving those within the shop a final, hateful glare before slamming the door shut once more.

The fire went out with the resulting draft.

* * *

 ***This idea, of course, comes from the newest Asterix movie. I've mentioned it in my stories once or twice before, I believe. I like the idea of Obelix having a weakness. A weakness that he doesn't have to worry about too much, but a weakness nonetheless. A character without a weakness is very hard to work with or develop.**

 **Alrighty! I'm already starting on the next chapter!**


	20. Crossing the Line

The walk across the village center was just as painfully cold as it had been the first time, as the two Gauls were forced to travel bare foot over the fresh fallen snow once again. Thankfully, it wasn't far, and they didn't have the rough handling that they had suffered before, but it was still a terribly uncomfortable experience, sending shivering and numbness all through them.

Impedimenta was practically squeezing the life from his hands, but Vitalstitistix let her. He himself had to beat down the urge to return her hold with just as much strength, if not more, his anxieties causing his heart to beat wildly. If Lycurgus had sent for him and him alone, he would not have been so worried. While he surely would still have been frightened, it would not have been nearly as bad as this. He didn't want his wife anywhere near the Greek, afraid that he might try to use their relationship as a means to force him to do something that, in all respects, he just couldn't. That was his greatest fear. That he might have to choose between two impossible choices, whatever they may be. Lycurgus seemed to be a master of manipulation, and that was something to be feared in a man with such goals as he had.

By the time they reached the hut that they had once fondly known as their home, their bare feet were stinging from the cold, ice having gotten stuck between their toes. Still in their nightclothes, there was barely enough material to protect them from the brutal wind, and, with each gust, they winced, finding it nearly unbearable.

Achates didn't give them a second thought. Opening the door, he gave a grunt, motioning with a stiff gesture that they go in, and the couple did not hesitate to do so. At this point, being in a place of danger, if only for the warmth, was far better than the stinging chill of the world outside.

Vitalstitistix tried not to look surprised when he found their cottage rearranged. The certain that had separated the living quarters from the audience room had been removed, so that the warmth from the hearth could warm the room more efficiently. The throne had been shifted to the far right, away from the door with a large table spread before it, one that had come from their storage. Feasts always required much larger tables, and the couple were one of the villagers in charge of keeping them. Around this sat a good portion of Lycurgus's men, all looking distinctly displeased as they looked over their shoulders at the two Gauls who had just entered. Lycurgus himself sat on the throne, also seeming in a foul mood, if his sour expression was anything to go by. The only thing in the whole place that hadn't been touched were the shields on the wall. They remained as they had always been, now located behind where the throne had been moved, as though Lycurgus had wanted them at his back, where he could no longer see them.

At the sight of them, Lycurgus seemed to put on a fake mask of hospitality, which, somehow, made Vitalstitistix feel sick. He tightened his hold on his wife's hand, hoping to reassure her, and himself.

"Ah, Chieftain," the Greek intoned amiably. "I thank you for coming at my request." There were a few snickers around the table, but they were silenced by a glare from their leader. "I know you didn't have much of a choice, but I commend you all the same." That almost sounded genuine.

Vitalstitistix stood stiffly, giving Lycurgus his best no-nonsense expression. "What is it you want, Lycurgus?" He felt the slight tremor in his voice and cursed himself for it. He couldn't show his fear. As chieftain, he had the duty to himself, his village, and all of Gaul, if necessary, to stand as strong, potion or no, as he could.

"Quite simply," Lycurgus stated, just as sternly, "I am inviting you to dine with my people." He raised a brow, watching as this news became a source of surprise, not only for the Gauls, but for his own men. They stared at him openly, murmuring spreading around the table that showed great displeasure.

Vitalstitistix blinked, a distinct look of confusion crossing his face. "I…I'm not sure I…"

"You needn't if you don't want to," the Greek said slowly, rising from his high throne to the floor, walking forward until he and the Chieftain were almost toe to toe. "But I do _suggest_ you do so." There was no mistaking the threat that those words carried, and, quite reluctantly, Vitalstitistix nodded, still firmly attached to Impedimenta's hand. They would stay, even if they didn't want to. Here, in a room full of the enemy, refusing would be very foolish.

The Gaulish woman herself had noticed that, though most of the Greeks in the room were men, one other woman was present. In the corner, over by the small, curtained door that led to the cooking room, was Agafya. She was very pale, and, when their eyes met, Agafya turned her gaze downward, as though too ashamed to meet Impedimenta's own. The Gaulish wife allowed herself to be led by her husband, who moved slowly and carefully, as though he were walking in a forest of hungry wolves. She could feel his shaking, traveling down his arm and up hers, and knew that he was afraid, as was she, but she gained courage from that of Vitalstitistix, whose bravery during such situations still surprised her.

Vitalstitistix moved over to a place at the table where there was space for them both, noticing that the Greeks in the immediate area moved further away, looking on the two of them in distaste. He was just about to sit him and Impedimenta down, when a sharp command from Lycurgus made them both jump, eyes flitting to gaze fearfully at the Greek leader.

"Not her." He pointed to Impedimenta. "You shall go and assist my wife with the cooking. I expect a pleasant meal."

Impedimenta looked indigent for a moment, but then caught her husband's eye, and she noticed how nervous he was. If she spoke out against Lycurgus, Toutatis knew what might happen. Swallowing her pride, and her fear, she gave the slightest huff, and slipped her hand from Vitalstitistix's, moving away to join Agafya and the meal. Vitalstitistix looked after her, feeling torn between his worry over being separated from her, and relief at her being out of Lycurgus's sight. His attention was recaptured when Lycurgus addressed him.

"And now, Gaul, there are matters I wish to discuss with you." Lycurgus returned to his seat on the tall, wooden throne, forcing all below him to raise their eyes up to look him in the face. He sat there like a god, his continence seeming to believe it. Above them all. Above reproach. And certainly above any law he saw as not his own.

Vitalstitistix, keeping his eyes purposefully on the table, stubbornly refused the man such as honor. "And what is that?" he grumbled, a hint of anger in his tone. If Lycurgus heard it, he ignored it.

"First of all, your blacksmith. He is a very foolish man."

The Gaulish Chief had to fight back a smile at that. Fulliautomatix was a lot of things; hot-headed, bad tempered, clumsy at times, but never a fool. In fact, as of the whole kicking the Magic Potion over incident, Vitalstitistix was finding himself downright proud of his friend. But he kept such thoughts to himself.

"He took a chance in doing what he did," Lycurgus continued. "I might have killed him right then and there, had I not had my reasons for sparing him."

Vitalstitistix frowned, eyes still fixed on the table. "What reasons is that?"

"To have him join my people."

With a startle, Vitalstitistix looked up, meeting the man's gaze head on. "What?!" He tried to compose himself, regain the ground he had lost. "But-But why? He is not Greek, he would never do so willingly!"

"Indeed," Lycurgus agreed. His gaze turned slightly to glance up at the shields behind him, each a formidable symbol of leadership and Gaulish loyalty. "He has strength, which we need to our own ends more than anything else. And he is a blacksmith, a craftsmen of weapons. That too is a hard thing to come by out here. My men have so such skill." He nodded, contemplating. "You are right in saying that he would never join us willingly, but is not every man under your care subject to your will?"

Vitalstitistix felt that sickening feeling returning to him once more. Again he couldn't keep the slightest tremor from his voice. "W-What do you mean?"

Lycurgus's face became sterner, more demanding. Less friendly. "I mean, _Gaul_ , as chieftain of this village do you not have the power to order him to join us? Is this not so?!" His voice had risen to a yell, which Vitalstitistix was sure could be heard even in the back where his wife now worked.

The Gaul refused to answer that. Instead, he fixed his gaze back upon the table with a defiant frown. Part of it was that the very notion, that he would ever force one of his friends to do anything against their will, was downright offending. He, even as chief, had always given the villagers an enormous amount of individual rule over their lives, just as his father had, maybe more. The only times he exercised his authority was in times of battle or a disagreement among them. Never, ever, would he break that unspoken pact he had made with them, that they should live free. Free from rule of anyone, be it Romans or Greeks, or their own kind.

The other part was his fear. His fear that Lycurgus was right. It was true, he _did_ have the power to order Fulliautomatix to do as Lycurgus wanted. And Fulliautomatix, for the safety and good of everything and everyone he cared for, would do it. Of that Vitalstitistix was sure. He would do whatever it took to save the others. Just as he himself would. Just as Getafix would. Or Obelix, or Asterix, or anyone else in the village. And that fact, which so often had been a redeeming quality among them, suddenly scared Vitalstitistix horribly.

Lycurgus watched the emotions cross the Gaul's face, reading his worry and anxiety, somehow seeing the truth inside it. He was right, the Gaul did have the power. He simply needed convincing that it was for the best. "Think about it," he said, far calmer now. "We shall eat. Then perhaps we can see the situation more clearly. Agafya! The food!"

At once, the little woman hurried out, quick to answer her husband's demands. Behind her, with defiance still firmly placed in her expression, was Impedimenta, carrying a platter of food just as Agafya was. It was fish, some of Unhygienix's 'best', which meant it was questionable. But there had been little else to prepare that would have been cooked in the time allotted them to do so. That and a few vegetables, prepared along with the fish, steaming hot and filled with moisture. It was hardly enough for those gathered, but it would have to do. Though Agafya had seemed very uneasy about it.

The women placed the food upon the table, Agafya backing away the minute her platter was lain, more like a servant might do. Impedimenta delivered her burden with a bit more malice, letting it clatter slightly; letting go of the plate just before it touched the table, so that it landed harshly. Achates, who she had placed it next to, shot her a vicious look, but said nothing, reaching forward to take a piece on the morsel and take a large bite. Uncertain at that point as to where she should go, Impedimenta stood looking over the assembly, eyes meeting the equally uncertain gaze of her husband. She was about to decide on simply going to join him, if they yelled they yelled, and had just started to do so when the man closest to her, Achates again, who had taken a bite of the meal, suddenly spit a chunk of fish from his mouth with a loud, enraged snarl.

Impedimenta's attitude toward bad manners was awakened at once. After all, this was her house, whether their captors said it was or not, and the man had just insulted a meal she had helped prepare. Having been raised by a well-to-do family in Lutetia, she found such behavior absolutely unexceptable. And Impedimenta was very much proud of her cooking. She glared at the man as he sputtered, but that continence left her when he suddenly grabbed her by the arm, pulling her toward him with a painful jolt.

"You call this fish, Gaulish _Τέρας_ *?!" he growled, wrenching her arm roughly, snarling only inches from her stunned and frightened face.

Vitalstitistix had risen to his feet with a jump, looking very anxious, but uncertain of what to do. His eyes flitted up to Lycurgus, hoping that, perhaps, the man would step in and dissolve the problem with a quick word. But he didn't. In fact, Lycurgus seemed very interested in what was happening at the table below him.

Impedimenta's arm ached with the tight intensity at which she was being treated, and finally, after everything that had happened, everything she had seen done at the hands of these men, she could no longer hide her anger. It was their fault so many of them were ill, and scared, and cold and hungry. And she had had enough. "You should be grateful for that fish, and the fact that I did not poison it!"

" _Ηλίθιος γυναίκα_ *!" Achates bellowed. Still gripping her arm, he rose, drawing his sword from its sheath as he did so. There was a gleam of murder and hatred in his eyes, and it was then that Impedimenta realized her mistake. Her eyes widened in horror as the blade rose above her head, preparing to strike. And still Lycurgus did nothing. All the men at the table seemed amused, watching with interest, while Agafya turned and covered her eyes in the corner at the Gaulish woman's cry of fear.

"NO!"

With a blur, something slammed into Achates with a formidable force, pushing the Greek aside and away from Impedimenta with unforeseen violence. The Chieftain's wife stumbled back, still stunned by the death she had almost been given, before she realized the one to have rescued her was her own, dear Vitalstitistix. He was shielding her now, breathing heavily and visibly shaken. She immediately regretted her actions even more, now seeing the terror she had driven him to.

"I don't need to see the situation more clearly!" Vitalstitistix yelled, filled with rage and fear, so much so that he didn't care what his words invoked. "I can give you my answer here and now! I will not order anyone to join you! Not, Fulliautomatix, not anyone! You do not belong here; in our hut, in our village, or in our homeland! And we will fight you with every last breath we ha- _Agh_!"

The Gaulish Chieftain stumbled back with a loud cry of pain, gripping his left arm, which was now soaking with blood, on fire with an almost blinding pain. Impedimenta steadied him the best she could with a cry of her own, trying to keep him from falling to the floor. Before them stood Achates, his sword reddened and his eyes filled with intense hatred. He had taken enough of these insignificant fools, and Vitalstitistix's pushing him had been the last straw. Rising with the speed of a striking serpent, he had swung his weapon, catching the Gaul on the arm, slashing a wound from Vitalstitistix's shoulder and reaching almost to the Gaul's elbow.

"Then die by the sword will you all!" he screamed, raising the weapon again.

"STOP!"

Only the loud, firm command could have broken into Achates' actions, saving the Gaulish couple by but a few moments. Eyes still maddened, he turned on Lycurgus, who had come down from his throne, walking toward them. "It is treachery!" yelled the younger Greek angrily, his face reddened with fury as Gaulish blood dripped from his blade. "We permit them to live, and still they vow not to us! Let us be rid of them!" Again he raised the sword, aiming for the two, frightened persons pressed in the corner. But a strong hand gripped his own, stopping the blade in swing.

"I said stop!" Lycurgus hissed, only inches from Achates' sweat soaked face. "I am the leader of New Sparta! I say what is and what is not! Do not cross me, _boy_ , or you yourself may die by _my_ blade!" He wrenched the sword from Achates' grip, flinging it away toward the door. "Go! Leave my presence until I see it fit!"

For a moment, it seemed as though the youthful Greek would not obey, as both men stood, nearly toe to toe, eyes filled with strong hatred toward one another. Achates looked about ready to pounce, about ready to place his strong hands to his leader's neck, but then he looked away, submitting with a growl. Stomping away, he grabbed his sword with a flourish of barely contained anger, and disappeared out the door, slamming it shut with a resounding bang.

The hut was filled with silence, the only sound being Agafya's gentle weeping in the corner, and the soft murmurings of Impedimenta as she gently tried to tend to her half-conscious husband. Lycurgus stared toward the door, his hatred and rage following Achates, even though he was no longer in sight. His anger did not subside as he swung his gaze to the rest of his men, who all stood, uncertain, in their places by the table.

"The meal is over!" the Greek leader growled. "Go!" His eyes fell upon Vitalstitistix and Impedimenta with frustration in his expression. "And take them back to the others of their kind!" With that he stormed out into the snow, to where, no one knew.

Nor did anyone plan to follow.

* * *

Lycurgus stomped out into the forest outside of the village. His rage was still boiling over, like a cauldron beneath a great heat. His eyes were feverish with hatred, not toward the Gauls, as one might have expected, but toward one of his own. Achates had crossed the line far too many times. The boy was insolent, foolish, and hot-headed. Didn't he understand the importance of keeping the Gauls alive? It was only by their lives that they might gain this Magic Potion from the druid when he returned. It was only by their lives that they had the upper hand. One Gaul was no big loss, as such a wound probably required a skillful hand to heal, which the Gauls did not have at the moment. So a life would be lost, he didn't care for the fat, little chieftain anyway. What was it to him if he died…

But, then, why had he stopped Achates?

Would it really have been such a bad thing to let the boy reclaim his honor? Would it have made things any more complicated? No. It would not have. In fact, it might have made things easier. Then why had he done it? He didn't care for the Gauls, so it had not been favor. He had trained and worked in the Arena for years, so it had not been mercy.

Lycurgus paused beneath the grey twigs of a bare tree.

He had stopped Achates because of the look on his wife's face. The look of horror, fear, not only at what the young Greek had been doing, but also at her husband's lack of action to stop it. It had been like a knife to his chest, twisting him so that he had fairly jumped to his feet to put an end to her terror. But that couldn't be right. He was a Greek, a descendant of Sparta. He carried not such sentiment. He _could_ not. And yet he had. But there was more still. He had also stopped because of something he had seen. Seen in Vitalstitistix, for a brief flash of a moment. A strength he hadn't expected…

What was _wrong_ with him? First he had allowed the blacksmith to survive his foolish actions, and now the chief and his wife. What was it that was making him act this way? His mind drifted back to the shields hanging on the wall of the Gaulish Chieftain's hut. For some reason, the image had begun to haunt him. They bothered him, another sign of weakness, and yet he could not bring himself to take them down, yet one more weakness. What in the name of all the skies and sees was wrong with him? He had killed many for far less things. Simply because they had been placed in the arena beside him. What witchery was it that now stayed his hand?

Lycurgus pushed these thoughts aside, burying them deep within himself, refusing to address them further. He would not be controlled by such things. Feelings were weak. Sentiment fleeting and false. He had a vision to bring into being.

He would not let this weakness stop him again.

Ever.

* * *

The door to the blacksmith's shop banged open again, causing all within it to startle. Fearfully, they all turned to the open threshold, their horror renewed as the Chief and his wife stumbled in, the former barely staying on his shaky feet.

"Vitalstitistix!" Fulliautomatix jumped to his feet, closing the distance in seconds to take up the Chieftain's other side, helping Impedimenta carry his weight. "What happened?!"

Impedimenta looked stricken, her eyes red from crying, nearly ready to collapse herself, half frozen and exhausted from trying to handle her half-conscious husband on her own. The Greeks had not helped her. "I-It was one of Lycurgus's men!" she stuttered, relieved as some of Vitalstitistix's weight was taken from her. She was gently removed from her post as Unhygienix took her place completely. "I-It's his arm, he's been hurt! Oh, _Toutatis_ …"

"Watch out! She's fainting!" Soporifix rushed forward, catching the woman before she could hit the floor. He was assisted in laying her down on a blanket by Mrs. Geriatrix, where the rest of the women immediately began tending to her.

Fulliautomatix and Unhygienix, along with some of the other men, managed to get Vitalstitistix over by the wall. By now they had spotted the tattered, blood stained sleeve on his left arm, and, once he was settled against the wall, a closer look revealed what they had feared. A long, deep gash ran along the leader's arm, looking very nasty, even in the dim light of the shop. It was still flowing strongly, traveling in small, red rivulets down his pale skin. The Chieftain himself was only partially awake, gasping slightly as they placed him down, breathing heavily around the pain.

The blacksmith beside him was frantic, in his anxiety having gotten over his 'squeamishness' over such things as blood, pressing his own hands to the injury in an effort to slow the loss. It was warm against his palms, as was Vitalstitistix's skin. Doubtless the man had a fever. _Not good. Not good._ Not good at all.

Fulliautomatix cursed his own stupidity. He never should have let Vitalstitistix and Impedimenta go with the guards. Even though he knew that his entreaties or their refusal might have been just as disastrous. That didn't change the fact that their Chieftain was now hurt, and he could have at least tried to stop it from happening.

"…F-Fulli…automa-"

The blacksmith startled at Vitalstitistix's soft, strained voice, having thought him far beyond the ability to speak. "Hey, shh, Chief," he said gently, trying to not look down at his hands. He knew they were covered in his friend's blood. "It's going to be alright. We're going to help you." He swallowed thickly, wishing he could be as certain of that as he sounded.

Vitalstitistix's eyes seemed unfocused, wavering a bit as they left Fulliautomatix's gaze to search around him. "…'Pedimen…menta?"

"She's here, Chief," Fulliautomatix promised, nodding to Unhygienix for the fishmonger to start ripping strips of on old blanket into bandages. It was unfortunate, seeing at they needed the cloth for keeping warm. But this was more pressing at the moment. "She's fine. Just try not to move, okay?"

He didn't receive an answer, and that was fine. He was trying to concentrate. As soon as Unhygienix had a few strips ready to go, Fulliautomatix removed his hands from the wound, which produced a small gasp from Vitalstitistix. The blacksmith apologized over and over as he tied a strip as high above the slash as he could, trying, as Getafix had once shown them so many years ago, to slow down the flow of blood. He couldn't remember why that would work, having been shown in school when he was very young. Getafix had found it important that the boys be taught such things, should the need ever arise. It never really had…until today. Fulliautomatix struggled to remember how it was supposed to be done, wishing with all his being that he had paid closer attention as a boy.

As soon as that was accomplished to the best of his ability, Fulliautomatix began wrapping the wound itself, still trying to stop the bleeding. He was becoming more and more distressed, his efforts hurried and sloppy, despite him trying his hardest. Vitalstitistix had fallen into a limp sleep, and it was only his shallow breathing that assured them he wasn't dead. The blacksmith did his best, but a deep, unsettling dread had taken hold of him, that his efforts wouldn't be enough...

* * *

 **Yay! Another chapter! I'm finally getting back into the swing of this. With too many stories, it had become almost a chore, and I began to feel like I wasn't giving it my best. Now, I feel my vigor for this story has returned! I really only get a chance to write in-between classes on Mondays and Fridays, which is why it still took a little time, but not nearly as long as before. This should help me fall into a more predictable posting pattern, at least compared to how it was.**

 **Τέρας, at least, according to google translate, is Greek for "monster". If any of you know Greek, would you mind letting me know if this is correct? Because often words have multiple meanings, and I don't want this to be the wrong one. ;)**

 **Ηλίθιος γυναίκα! = "Stupid woman". Again, if this is incorrect, please let me know!**

 **ALRIGHT! I've got to run off to Business Class! Talk to you all later!**


	21. Warmth and Understanding

Whenever one has had a deep, cleansing sleep, it is always quite hard, and undesired, to return to the waking world. Especially when one, for the first time in what seems like ages, is warm and sleeping soundly. Obelix was having such an experience. His mind woke up before his eyes were even considering it, letting the soft crackle of a fireplace fade softly into existence in his ears. He could hear his own breathing, deep and steady; relaxed. Rested. His body was no longer cold and his stomach didn't feel half as empty as it had before. His head felt a little hazy with sleep, and he wasn't exactly sure where he was, but some inner sense told him he was safe.

Obelix tried to recall what had happened to him, something at the back of his mind nagging, as though important. For a moment he just lay there, knowing that if he pushed his brain too hard, he'd surely not remember, but if he let his mind wander, he was sure it would come back to him. And it did. He quite suddenly recalled the frigid water, and the griping fear it had caused him. The crack of ice beneath his feet. The numbing pain. Cold. Fear. But someone had saved him. Just in the nick of time too. He had been fading, and Obelix knew it. The whole recollection tired him out just thinking about it. But it made him appreciate the warmth surrounding him now with a whole new intensity.

When he felt he had been just listening to the world long enough, the large Gaul slowly opened his eyes, blinking dazedly until he found himself looking up at the underbelly of a thatched roof. He stared in interest at the old, dry straw and beams, from which hung all manner of things. Herbs, vegetables, and various other plants, dried and tied, hung from every rafter, spiraling slowly on their strings of hide. The strong smell of herbs, reminding Obelix very much of Getafix's hut, filled the place, though not in an unpleasant way. For several moments, Obelix simply soaked it all in, breathing like a man glad to be alive. It was almost like being home. Almost.

He was just beginning to consider attempting to get up, when the slightest movement, right up against his arm, small and warm, caused him to startle in surprise. Raising his head, a little dizzily, he discovered a young girl, who couldn't have been much older than eleven or twelve years of age. She must have fallen asleep beside the mat, sitting on the floor with her arms and head resting against the bed of straw and blankets. At his sudden movement, she stirred, raising her auburn-haired head and opening emerald eyes to look right into his startled face. Sleep left her at once, her expression becoming bright with a warm smile as she studied him with an air of awe, respect, but most of all, excitement.

"You're awake!" she smiled happily, edging closer rather than further away. She did not seem embarrassed by the fact that she had fallen asleep beside his bed, nor did she offer any explanation as to why she had done so. "I'm so glad. Father said he wasn't sure you would, after all this time. Oh! Father!" Leaping to her feet, the child ran out of the room, from where a series of noises soon sounded. Very soon an older man, not quite as old as Soporifix, appeared, being pulled by one hand by his daughter while he rubbed the sleep from his eye with the other.

"See, Father! I told you he would wake up!"

Obelix tried not to wince at the pitch of her voice, which was high and excited. Now that the Gaul had dared to move, he realized he had quite a formidable headache, another rarity for him.

The older man also seemed pleased by Obelix's increasingly alert state, and moved forward to check on the larger man more carefully. "Indeed he is, Matricaria," he addressed his daughter, somewhat amusedly. "Someday perhaps you shall surpass me at my own craft. Now go," and he laughed, giving the girl a light shove, "and fetch our guest something for breakfast."

"B-Breakfast?"

Obelix decided he didn't like the sound of his own voice. It was rough, and dry, and terribly scratchy, like a tool against unpolished stone. That fact made him blush so hard with embarrassment that all the color he had lost during his travels in the cold returned to his skin in a rush. His host, however, did not seem to mind his croaking tone, but rather saw it as a symptom to be treated and a need to be met.

"And some water!" he called after the girl as she disappeared from view. Turning to his guest, the man gave Obelix a friendly grin that the Gaul, for the first time in days, found he couldn't help but return. "Well now, it certainly is good to see you back among the living." His face darkened just a bit. "For a while there, I wasn't sure you were going to make it."

Curiosity overtaking his embarrassment over the roughness of his voice, Obelix managed to sit up a bit. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Nearly three days."

Obelix felt his mind spin at the prospect. Three days?! Well, that explained why he felt so heavy with sleep still. And hungry. He was very hungry. He vaguely remembered being fed some sort of soup, more than once, and realized his hosts must have fed him, over the course of three days, more than once. That was a source of gratefulness on the Gaul's part, as well as another point of embarrassment. But he soon forgot all about that as the child, stumbling under the weight of a large bowl of stew, reentered the room, still all smiles and excitement.

"I helped make it myself!" she declared, spilling several bits of boar and broth upon the floor of the cottage. To which she seemed completely unaware. Her father took the bowl from her arms, setting it beside Obelix as though it were an offering.

"We found out quite quickly that you require quite a large portion of food to be filled," the fellow chuckled. "If this does not fill you, there is more."

Obelix needed no second prompting, and happily dug into the meal, asking for seconds and thirds before his appetite, which had been deprived for so long, was finally appeased. The entire time he ate, the young girl sat before him on a small, wooden stool, eyes fluttering and watching him with the keenest interest.

As his body received the fuel it had so badly needed, Obelix felt some of his senses returning to him, along with hazy memories of his ordeal out on the ice. He remembered the small hands that had grasped his own as he had struggled, followed by the stronger ones that had joined them. He could only assume that these hands belonged to the man and his daughter.

Obelix felt very much at home here, in the small cottage that made it very apparent that these folks were Gauls like himself. The windows were covered with large, thick blankets of wool, doubles to keep out the wind, strapped into place to secure them. It made the place warm and comfortable, but gave him no clue as to where he truly was. He had been wandering, lost in some frozen wilderness, and now, quite suddenly, he found himself back in civilization. And though he was very glad for it, he couldn't help but be confused.

"I'm sorry for not having introduced myself sooner," the father said, sitting down beside his daughter on his own, larger stool. "But I wanted to give you a chance to gather your thoughts before I presented you with more. I am Medkix, a man of notable practice in the arts of medicine and herbs."

Obelix gave the fellow a careful look. "…Like a druid?"

Medkix laughed. "Yes, and no. I am not nearly as learned as one of their great kind, but I do dabble in the practice of healing. Out here, there are very few druids, and the need for healing could be very pressing, and time to precious to travel and fetch one. And so, for that reason, I began my practice. Which turned out to be quite a saving grace for you, my friend." He frowned, realizing he did not know the large man's name. "By the way, to whom do we have the honor?"

"Obelix."

The two men shook hands, before the girl came between them, extending her own hand. "And I'm Matricaria!" She tilted her head, her loose hair shifting to the side as she stared into his very soul with those emerald eyes. "From where do you come? Oh, please tell us!"

"Matricaria! Let the man be!" Medkix gave Obelix an apologetic smile. "I'm afraid we don't get many visitors out this way, especially at this time of the season." He gave his daughter a disapproving look. "Certainly enough time alone to have forgotten our manners."

"No, no," Obelix insisted, finally attempting to stand to his own two feet. He wobbled a bit, until he found his balance, looking down on the two hosts with gentle gratitude. "It's alright. Really." He gave - a kind smile, deciding he was fine with answering her question. Seeing their home had instilled in him a sense of home sickness, which was very strong and made him think of the village with far more affection than he had when he had left. "I'm from a village in upper Armorica, under Chief Vitalstitistix."

Medkix's eyes widened, mouth dropping in surprise. "The village of the great druid, Getafix?"

Obelix nodded, somehow finding it amusing that their own humble and mild-mannered Getafix should be so well know even as far as…wherever he was now. "Yes. Do you know him?"

"Oh, well, ah, no!" Medkix stuttered, as though such an honor was far too high a wish to ever be granted. "But I know of him! He is known throughout all the regions as a man of great imagination and invention, especially in the field that I study in. He is a genius!"

Obelix chuckled at the man's enthusiasm, knowing that, should Getafix have been standing before them, hearing such praise, the druid would more than likely would have turned red and curled up in embarrassment. A genius? Certainly, in his own right, but Obelix knew him more as a teacher, a friend, and a second father. But -'s interpretation and summary of his friend was indeed very amusing.

Obelix felt a tug at his hand, and looking down found Matricaria looking up at him with large eyes. She had not realized how big he was until he had stood, and the action seemed to have left her in shock.

"Are you very strong?" she asked, her curiosity still running unsatisfied as to their guest. "We hear stories of your village. Of how Caesar cannot defeat you, no matter how hard he tries. Of the Magic Potion this Getafix makes that makes it all possible. Have you ever had it?"

All the light and enthusiasm seemed to go out of Obelix's gaze and stance, like a strong wind blows out a small flame. He gained a faraway look, seeming suddenly sad. He looked down toward the floor, all his memories as to why he had left his home resurfaced. He remembered the incident with Asterix, the talk with Lycurgus, and it still all confused him terribly. Unlike Asterix, who lived life by his thoughts and understandings, Obelix lived by the rising and falling of his emotions. Asterix followed his head, while Obelix tended to follow with his heart. And it had never failed him before. But now, miles and miles from home, lost, in a cottage that reminded him so much of his own, Obelix began to wonder if he had done the right thing. But that doubt was always beat down by that one, horrid fear that Lycurgus had planted so deeply into his soul. That his own strength, the thing that he had counted as a gift all his life, was a danger and a curse to those he cared for.

Obelix's emotions were clear. _Fix it, Fix it,_ his mind seemed to cry. But he had had no way of doing so, until Lycurgus had suggested going to Burdigala. And, again, following his emotions, Obelix had latched onto it with a passion, with a need to go through with it, even if he didn't understand, or realize, or comprehend the reasoning behind it. He only knew what he _felt_. And what he felt was the need to change. If that was the problem, he'd give it up. He would not harm Asterix, nor anyone else again, and if going to Burdigala to see this strange woman Lycurgus had spoken of, then he would. No matter what.

"I-I'm sorry," Matricaria spoke up, efficiently breaking the Gaul from his thoughts. She had noticed the change that had come over him and instantly regretted her questioning spirit. "I didn't mean to upset you. I'm so sorry." And she took his large hand in her small ones.

Obelix nodded, trying to shove away from the uncomfortable topic without depressing the girl further. "Where am I?" It seemed like a perfectly good question, and one that would further his journey. He certainly couldn't get from there to Burdigala without first knowing where he was.

Medkix took over the conversation quite willingly. "You're staying here at our farm, just about a mile South of the ruins of Alesia."

"Alesia!" Obelix blinked. Alesia. Perhaps the most iconic city in all of Gaul since the fight against Caesar had begun. It was there that all of Gaul was nearly defeated. Where the great Vercingetorix had lost in his fight to save them all. Vitalstitistix had fought there, back just before he became Chief, as had Geriatrix, though both always claimed as to not knowing where it was located*, as many people seemed to do these days. To suddenly find himself so close to the alleged city left Obelix feeling a little odd. As though a piece of history was suddenly far more real now that he was closer to it. He almost felt tempted to visit it, ruins or no. But also knew he didn't have the time. "How long a walk is it to Burdigala?"

Medkix gave him a strange look, as though he had just spoken something half way insane. "Burdigala? By Toutatis, man! Is that where you were heading? You are way off track! Burdigala is still a good four hundred miles south-west of here!"

"That would take you weeks to get there walking!" Matricaria cried.

Obelix drooped. Though he knew he could make the distance in a far, far shorter amount of time, he was discouraged by how off he had been. His unusual strength also supplied him with unusual speed. He'd gain Burdigalian territory in a manner of days, if he didn't stop to eat. If he ran in spurts, making sure to eat in between, he imagined he could get there in a matter of two days at the least. But he decided not to say so. Moving toward the door, his mind now set on his task, he apologized. "I have to leave. I have to get to Burdigala as soon as I can. Thank you for everything you've done, and I wish that I could do more for you in return."

"We understand," Medkix nodded, following him to the door. "But wouldn't it be better if we supplied you with some food? And a map? I believe I have one that may be helpful."

Obelix stared at the door a moment, his hand already extended to open it. But it was true, he wouldn't get far without a map or food. Perhaps he could even be shown how to read the directions if Medkix walked him through it. Half reluctantly, the large Gaul let his hand rest back at his side. "That would be good. Thank you."

* * *

Itylus was truly amazed. Even among men such as Lycurgus, he had never seen such dogged determination in all his days. He had seen strength, as a man standing in the Arena, ready to fight to the death for others' pleasures. He had seen strength, as the gods in the stories of old Greece had recorded and told. But never had he seen, what he know realized, was the strength of the mind. Asterix was no weakling, as the short Gaul had proven again and again over the past three days. The Greek had seen him stumble and struggle, ever since leaving Venetii, but still Asterix pushed on, forcing his own body forward when it seemed his physical person could barely even continue to do so. It was mind over body, soul and spirit over normal endurance. And that was truly an impressive feat, more so than Itylus's pride could dismiss. He refused to acknowledge it out loud, of course, but a sense of respect had begun to creep into his view of the little man, and no amount of Lycurgus's words from before on strength and brute force could dislodge it.

They had traveled south from Veneti with a meager supplies of meat and bread, which had been far harder to come by in Veneti than Getafix had expected. They had set out at a fast pace, continuing in that manner for the first day, reaching Namnetes in record time. They had done a bit of searching around there, and had finally discovered a merchant who had confessed to have sold Obelix a fake map. Asterix had not been happy, and had made that very clear to the merchant. They had resumed in the same manner of travel the day after. It had been hard going, even Itylus had to admit that. The weather had taken yet another turn, wind whipping the white, blinding snow all around them, frigid against any place where bare skin might show.

Asterix had obviously been growing fatigued over the past hour or so, his arm clutched to his chest and a grimace of pain permanently fixed on his face. He had begun to wander slightly from their path, eyes half shut against the storm so that he stumbled, tripped up by the snowdrifts, but never actually fell. Getafix, moving quickly, stretched out a hand, laying it upon the Gaul's shoulder, steering him back in the direction they were supposed to keep. Due south. Always south. With the sea always somewhere to their right. Though they couldn't always see it.

Getafix sent Itylus a worried look at Asterix's increasingly exhausted behavior, and out of an odd sense of understanding, Itylus found himself squinting through the intense flurries, searching for some sort of shelter. He found some in the form of another cave, far smaller and rougher than the one they had stayed in back along their journey's beginning. Willingly, he assisted the elderly druid in getting Asterix, and the pup, Dogmatix, inside, moving back deep enough into the crevice to secure them from the wind. The druid quickly made a fire, placing Asterix as close to it as he dared. Soon they all were able to enjoyed its gentle warmth. Things had become pretty routine by that point in their journey. They would always walk as far as they could, find shelter, get warm as Getafix tended to Asterix's arm, sleep, and then, when the morning came, they would continue.

Watching the others settle, Itylus found himself to be very restless. His mind felt as though it had some things he needed to work through, analyze. As Getafix worked on tending their smallest traveling member, Itylus carefully slipped away, heading back out into the cold and fresh air outside of the cave. He stared up at the hazed sky, at the flakes falling down on his face, sticking to his lashes. He took a deep breath, watching as the puffs rose into the gathering darkness. He was starting to detect changing ideals within him, and it was beginning to frighten him. If such thoughts were ever uttered out loud, Lycurgus would surely kill him. Or at least banish him from their people, shamed and labeled as weak. Unworthy. An outcast. He didn't want that. He feared it. But, ever since meeting Obelix, and having a glimpse of a normal life, a life with people who actually cared for one another, as Asterix did for Obelix, and vise versa, Itylus was slowly finding himself doubting the words Lycurgus had filled his mind with for so long.

And that was unexceptable.

What was left of his Greek heritage fought back, fiercely. He would not let these needling sentiments win. They were unordered. Chaotic. And that was not the way of the Greeks. And certainly not the way of a descendant of Sparta.

And so, he decided to go for a quick hunt, giving him something to dwell on other than his confused and troubled thoughts, at least to a degree. Though certainly not completely. Otherwise, he would have left Asterix and the druid alone, and headed back to the village, as Lycurgus had commanded him to. But still, his curiosity would not permit him to do so. He was filled with an interest in whether or not they would make it. He would not call it concern. He _would_ _not_. He wouldn't even think it. But stay he was going to, and, for once, he was not so concerned with the consequences it might produce.

The hunt did him good, and he returned to the cave with a small hare for their supper, feeling rather refreshed. The hare would not be nearly as filling as a wild boar, but certainly better than the rations they had bought in Venetii. He entered the cave's entrance determinedly, following along the stone tunnel as it led into the rock, but then he froze as soft voices filled his ears. It was Asterix and Getafix, talking. That alone shouldn't have been enough to cause him to pause, but it was the sound and nature of their whispered conversation that prompted him to hesitate. Hiding in the shadows, Itylus moved forward carefully, until he could hear the two more clearly. A sense of cold seriousness had seemed to have materialized in the cave since he had gone and returned, and it made him uneasy.

"This isn't going very well, is it, Getafix?" Asterix's voice echoed around the cave eerily, filled with a despair that was very rare for him. It sounded so unlike the Gaul's usual continence, that it felt...wrong. Even to Itylus. As though all the hope in the world had suddenly been pulled out from under him.

There was a long, hesitant pause, before the druid's sigh followed the question. "Asterix, I will not lie to you. Obelix had a very large head start, right from the beginning...For all we know, he might already be in Burdigala."

Itylus sensed rather than saw or heard Asterix droop in defeat. The silence was almost painful. "This is all my fault."

"Now, Asteri-"

"No. Getafix, you don't understand. It goes much further back than just what happened these last few days."

Getafix's voice was stern, as though determined to make something very clear, even though there was also a hint of lost confusion to his tone. "If it has anything to do with Mastix, then-"

"No. no, not that either." Another long pause. "Getafix...have you ever been ashamed of something you did? Something that truly _was_ your fault, but you kept it hidden for years and years, because you just couldn't bring yourself to admit it?"

"Yes." The word was strong and certain. Strangely understanding. "Yes, I think I have." There was the sound of someone shifting, and Itylus could only assume that the druid had sat down beside the young warrior. "Asterix? Have you ever felt that way?"

Asterix gave a sigh, filled with regret. "For a very long time. It sort of faded...Long ago it faded, but this has all...all sort of brought it back."

"Asterix, what is it you did?"

"You remember the day Obelix fell into the Magic Potion?" Asterix asked shakily, obviously determined to release whatever it was that plagued him. "When you and the other adults had gone out to fight the Romans? I...Obelix had been having trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

Itylus could almost imagine Asterix shrugging. "Bullying, mostly. The others used to pick on his because of his size. I...I convinced Obelix that, well, if he was strong, then maybe they would leave him alone." There was a long, uncomfortable pause. Itylus couldn't take it any more, and so, carefully, staying in the shadows, he leaned so that he could actually see the two. Asterix and Getafix were sitting side by side by the fire, the smaller staring blankly into the flames while the druid fixed his own gaze on Asterix's face. The village warrior seemed to be struggling, a painful hessetence in his expression. Swallowing, he finally managed to speak again. "Getafix...Getafix, I'm the one who convinced Obelix to go into your hut that day. I'm the one who convinced him to drink the potion." Asterix slammed his eyes shut immediately, shame in his very posture, like some great stain on his person. Getafix, however, remained perfectly still, unblinking, the smallest hint of a smile on his lips.

"I know."

Asterix's eyes snapped too his friend and teacher. "You...You know?"

"I do." The smile had grown, becoming fond and endearing. There was no anger, or surprise in Getafix's reaction at all. Asterix, on the other hand, seemed stunned, and confused. He stared at the druid openly, completely shocked by his friend's words.

"Then, I...I...Getafix, how come you never said anything?!" he finally ended up exclaiming.

"Asterix," Getafix hushed gently, laying a hand on the Gaul's uninjured shoulder. "There are many things that you are, and there are many things that you are not. And a lair, you are not. I knew that someday you would tell me, and I decided to wait for you to do so unprompted."

Asterix's eyes shifted back and forth minutely, seeming to search Getafix's gaze for the truth. He sighed, letting his sight fall back to his own hands. "Then it _is_ my fault."

"Asterix, it is not up to us to determine whether something is meant to be or not." Getafix frowned. "How do you know that Obelix was not meant to fall into that cauldron? That he was meant to have strength? We cannot make our lives what we think they will be, they will simply be as they were meant to. Obelix was destined to fall into the Magic Potion, just as you were meant to be our Village Warrior." He paused, and all the anger, if it had even really been there, fell away. "Sometimes our mistakes must be made, so that something more important can happen later. If Obelix had never gained his strength, I doubt that the village would still be standing. A lot of things might have been different. A lot have things might have been lost. Including you."

A shiver ran down Asterix's spine. "But can't one say that as an excuse for any mistake? Isn't it just words to ease one's conscience?"

"Good question." Getafix leaned back slightly, taking Dogmatix into his lap and petting his fur thoughtfully. "What do you think?"

Asterix blinked. "I...I don't know what to think..."

Getafix nodded, giving his friend a pointed look and a sad smile. "Neither do I. I don't know everything, Asterix, but I know that this isn't your fault. It's not anyone's fault. If something is meant to happen, then it will happen, no matter who is chosen to start it. Why, it could have just as easily have been you that fell in the Magic Potion all those years ago. Would you have blamed Obelix?"

For a moment, Asterix didn't answer. "No..."

"Than don't take blame where none is needed," the druid insisted. "You and Obelix are closer than I've ever seen anyone. Sometimes, it feels as though you were both one and the same, despite how very different you are." He gave Asterix's back a comforting pat. "We'll find him. No matter what happens, we'll find him. But we can't give up. Right?"

Asterix's answer was the strongest Itylus had hear yet.

"Right."

The Greek stood in the shadows for several long moments, losing track of time as it slipped by. His mind buzzed with what he had just heard, and it brought back all the confusion he had just managed to banish from his already overwhelmed mind. Never had he heard of anyone caring so deeply for someone, that they were willing to take the blame for ruining, what sounded like, another's life. How could something so drastic, as this appeared to be, and yet the friendship the two Gauls shared had not grown weaker, but stronger? Sentiment and care was supposed to be a cripple, not an aid, Lycurgus had said so. It didn't make any sense.

Itylus stayed out of sight, until the call of the fire's warmth drew him into the small, rough cavern. By then, Asterix and Getafix had fallen asleep. Setting the rabbit in the corner, for when they awoke, Itylus lay down on his blanket he had brought, staring up at the rock ceiling as he continued to work through his thoughts.

* * *

 **Whoohoo! Here we go! I had to do a lot of research for a lot of this stuff.**

 **The Battle of Alesia – An enormous battle that took place in the city of Alesia, the Gallic Tribes united under Vercingetorix vs. the army of the Roman Republic commanded by Julius Caesar. It was in this battle that Caesar (in real history, not the Asterix world) finally subdued the Gauls, and took over Gaul. Vercingetorix threw down his shield at Caesar's feet, surrendering, only to be taken prisoner and later killed. This is the same Vercingetorix whose shield is the shield Vitalstitistix is carried around on.**

 **Vitalstitistix in the Battle of Alesia – According to every comic archive and wiki I could find on Asterix, it is said that Vitalstitistix participated in this historic battle. Like many things in the Asterix universe, the timelines (sometimes within the series itself) do not line up. In order for Vitalstitistix to have fought in this battle (which took place in 52 BC), it would have to be before he became chief of his village. But this doesn't work. In two different comics, we are given two different dates for Asterix's birth (35 BC and 85 BC). We assume that Vitalstitistix was around five or six years old when Asterix was born. This means, if Asterix was born in 35 BC, Vitalstitistix was six years or much, much younger (in fact, before he was born) in order to have been in the battle. But if Asterix was born in 85 BC, Vitalstitistix would have been somewhere around thirty-nine or forty years old, which is too old to work. So, as a whole, I'm just going to do what Goscinny and Uderzo did, and just ditch accurate history all together. The Asterix universe is really messed up as far as that goes, so, I'll just take their word for it: Vitalstitistix, before he became Chief, was in the Battle of Alesia.**

 **PREVIEW TO A POSSIBLE FUTURE STORY from Zeragii: I have an idea that's been knocking around in my head for nearly a year now, about writing a story about Vitalstitistix, and his history within the Battle of Alesia. It would be a little more than that (very dramatic, and focus on his relationship with his people and his village), but I don't want to give it away. Would anyone be interested if I did write it later on?**

 **Running gag: It is a running gag in the Asterix comic _"Asterix and the Chieftain's Shield"_ that no one knows where Alesia is. It's funny, because it seems to allude to the fact that the Gauls in the Asterix universe refuse to acknowledge the city in any way after Caesar's victory and Vercingetorix's defeat there. Where is it? They don't want to know, and they don't care! – It's also kind of funny, because it is true today that the location of the actual city of Alesia is uncertain.**


	22. Compassion

Fulliautomatix was feeling more lost and frightened than he ever had before. He felt as though some terrible weight were pressing down on him, crushing him brutally, and he honestly wasn't sure how much longer he could take it. He now understood. He understood the immense amount of responsibility that came with being Village Warrior, or even a Chieftain. He understood the dire consequences of one person's decisions. _His_ decisions. And he wished for all the world that they were not his to make.

But things were looking bad. _Really_ bad. With Vitalstitistix down for the count, everyone was looking to the blacksmith for answers, and he just didn't have any to give. All those eyes, filled with fear and needing some sort of reassurance, were focused on him, and all Fulliautomatix could hope for was that the ground might open up and swallow him whole; save him from the pressure that pressed down on his heart. Save him from the stress and pain these responsibilities were causing him. But, he was also glad that they _were_ his to bare. It was strange, but he would not have ever wished this on any of the others. If the burden were to lie anywhere, at least it had been him and not them. He vaguely realized what a selfless thought that was, but didn't dwell on it, because he meant it. He truly did.

"...Fulliautomatix?...Dear?..."

Looking up from his thoughts, the blacksmith was greeted by the worried face of his beautiful wife, Mrs. Fulliautomatix. She was such a small, frail looking thing, though, after years of marriage, he had found that her appearance was quite misleading. Never had he known a woman with such inner strength. To deal with him, and two children, she had to be. It pained him to see her free spirit locked in their own shop, a world that had originally been a place of good and honest work, but which now served only as a prison.

In her hands she held a grey, woolen blanket, dirty, but folded as neatly as she could get it. She held it out to him, giving him a sad smile which dampened his spirit rather than revived it. "We've given the children and the ill all the warmth we can. There's this one blanket left. Here." He pressed it to his chest, in the hopes that he would accept it, and it unnerved her when he did not.

Fulliautomatix looked down at the fabric, almost longingly, feeling how warm it was as opposed to the cold leather of his apron against his skin. He was chilled, it was true, for even he could not stand the lack of heat which was slowly descending upon them all. Even he had had no choice but to suffer under the dropping temperatures of the shop, which numbed the fingers and toes, and stiffened the limbs. But he had not complained, not once, even though his skin had turned very pale, with a hint of blue, and he was shivering noticeably. Shaking his head, the blacksmith did not reach for the blanket Mrs. Fulliautomatix offered him, instead stepping back so that it was away from his touch. "Give it to one of the others. I'll be fine."

"Don't be silly, Fulliautomatix!" his wife hissed, though more out of desperation than anger. She was not used to such selfless behavior in her husband, and it instilled in her a sense of pride, but also fear for his well-being. She reached out, her fingers brushing his arm and then pulling back with shock. "You're freezing! You're going to fall ill!" Tears suddenly appeared in her eyes, the emotions and feeling which had been gathering ever since their plight had begun finally breaking to the surface. She lowered her gaze, no longer able to hold his as she simply began to cry softly. "First Cacofonix, then Vitalstitistix...They're so very weak...Oh! If we lost you to sickness, what would we do then…?" She whispered this brokenly, between heaving sobs. The blacksmith startled at her sudden emotions, reaching out at once to embrace her, trying to calm her as she finally released all her feelings of fear and grief over their situation. She was so small he had to bend so as to embrace her comfortably, and the position was not the most comfortable, but certainly the most essential at that moment.

"Oh, what are we going to do?" Mrs. Fulliautomatix wailed quietly into his shoulder. "It feels like the world has ended…as though the sky has fallen down on our heads..." She clutched him to her, her mind taking note with grief at feeling just how cold his skin truly was. "We…We're not going to make it out of this…are we?"

She felt Fulliautomatix stiffen, and with a quick motion he detached her and held her at arm's length, so that he could gaze directly into her eyes. His face was determined, and the fire that he usually held burned in his fierce eyes, but with a new sense of purpose and responsibility that his wife could not recall ever seeing before. He looked into her own eyes so strongly that she was tempted to look away, but couldn't. She hadn't seen him like this before, and it gripped her with an almost calming curiosity.

"We're going to make it," he gritted, though not angrily. It was as though he were trying to fill her with the same confidence he held, to force it in and make it stick. "Don't _ever_ doubt it. No matter what it looks like. As long as I have life in me, I am going to fight this. I won't let Lycurgus win. No matter what might happen." He held her gaze, as though their very souls were connected, breathing heavily, as she breathed hardly at all. A look of loving care filled her expression, and she moved a hand to the side of his face, maintaining eye contact unwaveringly. The smallest hint of a smile slipped into his expression, but it was slightly saddened. Weighed down with a burden that had never been meant to be his.

"I know you will," she whispered with a smile, which turned to a worried frown, her eyes searching his face. "That's what I'm so afraid of…" With that, she gathered the blanket to her chest and turned, walking back over to the children, now once more composed. She would drape the material on someone there who needed it. For now, she'd leave Fulliautomatix alone.

The blacksmith watched her go, before he dropped his eyes back down to the hard floor beneath his feet. With a shuddering sigh, he made his way around the shop, checking on those now fully under his care. With Vitalstitistix hurt and unresponsive, it was up to him to watch out for the others alone, without the support that he so badly needed. It was hard. They were all so frightened, and Fulliautomatix would have been lying if he said he wasn't scared out of his wits himself. Because he was. This new ground was unlike anything he had ever experienced, or had ever wanted to experience. It made him wonder what in Toutatis' name had ever possessed Asterix to take up the position of Village Warrior willingly. It seemed to the blacksmith to be an occupation of nothing more than fear, guilt, grief, and anguish, all rolled into one, an overwhelming sense of dogged responsibility. Of course, he was not Asterix. If there was one thing he knew, it was that each man was designed for whatever life they had been meant to live. Asterix had been born to be a warrior, just as he had been born to be a blacksmith. Their rolls, if switched, would never suit them. Fulliautomatix chuckled. For some reason, the thought of Asterix struggling to pound metal against an anvil twice his size caused Fulliautomatix to smile, before he sank back into his worried thoughts.

He stopped to see the children, his along with everyone else's. They seemed to be doing alright, for the most part, hunger being the main problem. Since food had not found its way into their mouths for a solid three days, many of the smaller ones had cried themselves to sleep, while the older ones tried to act as though it didn't matter, Fulliautomatix's son among them. But the subtle image of little hands pressed against empty stomachs made it more than clear that it was all an act. Most of them were curled up in little heaps under a mound of woolen blankets, drawing heat from each other, dressed in their little nightshirts as they were. They were warm enough, more willing to cuddle together than the adults would have been, though necessity might prove eventually to prompt them to do so despite their discomfort with the idea. But it was those who were ill that were suffering most.

A number of those who had had colds before, were now suffering from low fevers, and restless dozes. Nothing dangerous, at least as far as their life was truly concerned, but it made them miserable and weak, sniffling Gauls with their eyes bleak and hazed with sickness. But the worse one off by far was Cacofonix*. The bard had become increasingly fatigued, exhausted by the coughing that had been plaguing him ceaselessly for hours on end. He would drift off into some sort of half-conscious sleep, waking up every few moments to cough painfully. His hands, which shook either from cold, or pain, clutched his chest in a weak effort to try and ease the agony each cough created within him. He was sweating now, his fever having risen, but his body was wracked with chills, and his shaking did little to assure the others.

Fulliautomatix crouched beside his friend, looking to Bacteria, who was the one tending the bard at that moment. He could see her compassion stirred by the thin Gaul that she was working so hard to comfort, in any way that she could. She had tried getting his mind of the coughing, telling him stories that she knew from her childhood. She had even resorted to brushing her hand against his shoulder whenever his breathing became distressed after an especially violent fit of coughing. But her efforts were doing very little good, despite her sincerity. She and the other women had wrapped Cacofonix in as many blankets as they could spare for one person, and had placed him as close to the hearth as possible, even though nothing more remained of the fire itself but a few glowing twigs and a single wisp of smoke. The ashes still gave off a little warmth, hardly enough to feel, but that was better than nothing.

"How is he?" the blacksmith inquired, not asking Cacofonix directly, since the bard was sitting slouched slightly against the wall with his head thrown back, trying to regain his breath after yet another rough fit.

Bacteria's sad, frightened eyes turned upward to look the blacksmith in the face, and Fulliautomatix almost flinched, afraid that she was going to say something about it being his fault, or that he should have prevented this from happening. But her gaze held no anger or scorn, only concern. She opened her mouth to answer, but the bard in question beat her to it, answering the question for himself.

"…I-I'll be…a-alright…" He gave the blacksmith a side glance, opening his eyes just enough to do so, chest heaving slightly, but trying not to breathe too deeply, for fear of inducing another attack of coughing.

Fulliautomatix looked down at his friend, who had glanced up at him with a hint of defiance. Defiance against what his body was fighting, and defiance against the cloud of hopelessness that seemed to be hovering over all but him. The blacksmith winced as Cacofonix let out a wheezing cough. "Of course you will," Fulliautomatix answered strongly, doing just as he had with his wife, instilling a confidence he did not quite feel. "Why, soon enough, you'll be back on your feet and singing like anything."

"Until one…of-of you…objects," the bard laughed weakly, a twinkle of his old self in his clouded, blue eyes. He shivered a little, slouching back down against the wall that he was leaning next to, all of the strength seeming to leave him at once. The talking, in just the few words he had said, had exhausted him, making his throat burn.

"He's gotten a little better," Bacteria inserted gently, her hand resting on Cacofonix's arm the whole time, rubbing slowly up and down like she might have done if one of her children had been ill. She smiled down on him when he looked up at her, gracing him with a rare show of care. "You're coughing has started to quiet a little. Doesn't sound quite so rough." She gave his arm a light squeeze, mentally worrying over how pale and warm his skin was. "Try and get a little sleep, Cacofonix. Alright?"

The bard nodded weakly, his eyes closing seemingly without his consent. He sagged against the wall at his back, succumbing to an uneasy sleep almost at once. Bacteria checked him over, making sure he was fine, and then stood up determinedly, grabbing Fulliautomatix's hand and pulling him into the corner of the shop, out of Cacofonix's hearing range. Her round, full face was filled with barely contained panic, and the blacksmith knew that this was going to be the _real_ answer to his question.

"He's not alright, is he?" he guessed sadly, that sickening feeling he was becoming so accustomed to hitting him violently. He almost wanted to cry, something that he felt no true man should ever do, but he had no other way to explain how he felt. And yet, he couldn't give in to the stress he was experiencing; not when he had so many looking up to him for hope and guidance.

"No." Bacteria wrung her hands helplessly, looking back over her shoulder at the bard who seemed so small and frail, wrapped in thin blankets that did little to help him in any way. "I mean, his coughing _has_ improved a little, but I think it's because he's fighting so hard to stop it. It hurts too much. Just breathing has become a nightmare for him. If Getafix were here, I'm sure he'd have something to fix him up at once, but-"

"But he's not," Fulliautomatix finished weakly. He too looked back toward the bard, taking in his friend's shaking, even in his sleep. "Then what can we do?"

Bacteria shook her head slowly, a sense of frightened seriousness in her eyes, her voice trembling in its tight effort not to be heard. "We can try to keep him comfortable. We can try to keep his fever down, and we can try to help him through the pain. But if he doesn't get the care, the food, and the warmth he needs…I…I don't know what might happen." She turned her eyes to the floor, unable to utter her true fear. The true fear that haunted them all.

Fulliautomatix nodded distractedly, his mind running in desperate circles as he tried to come up with some solution. He reached out, touching her arm very lightly in a form of friendly comfort. "Alright. Keep doing your best." He tried to give her a reassuring smile. He tried to. "Everything will be alright. You'll see. We're all going to walk away from this, just as we always have."

The fishmonger's wife nodded, eyes still fixed on the dirt floor, fiddling with the hem of his dress. She turned and walked back to her patient without another word, settling down beside the bard and placing her hand back on Cacofonix's arm. Bacteria was tired, but she would get a break soon enough, he knew. She had been taking turns with Unhygienix, who, at the moment, was asleep over by their two, young sons. Shortly, they would switch off, and the Unhygienix would take her place, while she got some well-deserved rest. It was the best they could do at the moment, since most of the other Gauls were occupied with taking care of someone else. Everyone was busy taking care of each other, and, besides them, Cacofonix had no one else to do so. He had no family, and could only rely on his friends.

Fulliautomatix turned from the disheartening scene, making his way over to the furthest corner of the hut, a sense of worried reverence in his slow, careful step. It was here, away from the others, that Impedimenta had been caring for Vitalstitistix. Still unconscious, and completely unresponsive, the Chieftain lay on his back upon a few ragged blankets, breathing shallowly in a way that made his condition appear worse than it actually might have been. Which was still pretty bad. It worried them all that he had not yet awoken, and it had been a solid hour since he had been brought back to the shop. Impedimenta, now recovered from her ordeal, had not left his side for a moment. She watched over her husband unblinkingly, her small hand clutching his uninjured one as though willing her strength into him with every ounce of her being.

Fulliautomatix crouched down beside her, but she didn't look up, her eyes fixed only on the slack face of the man she loved more than anything. It pained her. Sure, it was true she could be a nagging wife at times. It was true she tended to boss him around and yell and carry on, threatening to return to Lutetia from time to time, but she really did love him. More than anything, she loved him. He was loyal, brave, caring, and understanding. All things that she sometimes tended to forget over the course of time. She slowly rubbed her thumb over his palm in her hold, aware of Fulliautomatix's presence, but not turning to address him. When she finally spoke, her eyes were still fixed on Vitalstitistix.

"...He saved me, you know."

So far, the Gauls within the shop had not been able to get Impedimenta to tell them anything of what had happened in the Chieftain's hut. Not in full detail at least. They had managed to patch together that something unpleasant had occurred, and that one of the Greeks had attacked Vitalstitistix with a weapon, a sword, if the clean cut of the wound was anything to go by, but outside of that, they knew very little. Impedimenta had been far too upset to say more, but now, it seemed, she was ready to talk. And so, without interrupting, Fulliautomatix decided to just stay still and listen, giving her his full attention.

"This could have been me," the Chieftain's wife continued softly, continuing her gently rubbing of Vitalstitistix's limp hand. "That sword had been meant for me. I…Had I known that…" She closed her eyes, a tear slipping down her cheek. "He pushed me out of the way, Fulliautomatix. He…He stood up to them all, even though he knew..." Her voice held the smallest hint of that famous, Gaulish pride, but she shuddered, losing it at once. "I…I just wasn't expecting him to…for them to…hurt him…" She gripped Vitalstitistix's hand just a little bit tighter, her pale skin pink in contrast to his own. "I love him so much."

Fulliautomatix tried to remember the last time he had heard her say that. Granted, the village knew the two loved each other dearly. They had all heard the story of how Vitalstitistix had doggedly persisted in getting the young woman from Lutetia's attention. How he had followed her around, and how he had tried everything he could to get her to marry him, even against Impedimenta's parents' misgivings. And they knew his persistence had eventually paid off, and Vitalstitistix had finally won Impedimenta's heart, becoming one of the few current individuals in their village to have married someone who had been born outside of the village itself. But the two rarely became intimate, at least as far as publicly. They tended to shout back and forth a bit, Vitalstitistix often losing in the clashing of her strong will against his, even though it was known by all that they really cared for one another deeply. Maybe it was the fact that Vitalstitistix was Chief that made it so they didn't always express it. Maybe there existed some unspoken rule that said they couldn't. But it was there, that love and care; that deep affection that was only visible in times like this. She really did love him, just as he really did love her.

But Vitalstitistix needed a lot more than just love and care at this point. He needed Getafix. He needed something to heal him, while instead he just grew weaker and weaker in the dark and cold of the blacksmith's shop. They had no food, no fire, and the air was becoming frigid, despite the number of bodies within the room. If Cacofonix was in dire straits, Vitalstitistix was even more so.

Sighing, disheartened, Fulliautomatix started back for the solitude of his own corner without a word, where he intended to continue his worrying, and hopefully come up with some kind of plan. But he had barely made it half the distance, when the silence was interrupted. All at once, there was a small sound by the door, a sort of scraping, followed by a low creak. The Gauls shifted their eyes fearfully in that direction, a look of hopeless exhaustion in all their expressions. Every time that door opened, their situation grew worse. Every time it opened, they were only dealt more fear, and more suffering. At this point, it was the most foreboding sound in the world as the wooden structure was slowly pushed open.

They all blinked. For there, standing in the frame of the open doorway, was not Lycurgus, nor any of his men, but Agafya, the Greek leader's wife. She stood looking back at them, seemingly afraid, her face tight, but eyes moist as though she had been crying. In fact, it looked like she had been crying very hard, for the tear stains still shown on her cheeks, and her eyes were slightly red and puffy. Hesitant to enter, but too anxious to stay out in the open by the door, Agafya finally stepped inside and shut the door softly behind her. The Greek woman's arms were full of items of all sorts and manners. Blankets, food, linens, all of which the Gauls recognized as having come from their own homes. Fulliautomatix, feeling that it was his job to address her, stood firm, taking a few steps forward, his face hard and tight, trying not to show his true anger, and his fear. Not of her, necessarily, but of who she represented.

"What is it you want?" His voice was low, accusing in one way, but shakenly controlled in another. His eyes were fixed to the objects in her arms, knowing that, though they sorely needed them, there had to be a catch. It was Lycurgus's way of trying to manipulate them, he was sure. It made him hesitant, and perhaps a little harsher in tone than he would normally have been with a woman.

Agafya flinched back slightly, unable to look the blacksmith in the eyes. She clutched her burden to her chest, and her mind filled with second thoughts. But then her gaze drifted to the frightened faces of other women, and children, and even the Gaulish men around her. She took a deep breath, and then held out her arms, offering her load to Fulliautomatix. "I've come to help." She stayed like that, finally staring up into the blacksmith's face with an almost pleading look. Pleading to be accepted. Pleading to be understood. Pleading to be forgiven for things that, in a way, were not really even her fault. And pleading that they would just let her ease the pain of guilt inside of her. But the man before her was hesitating, and she could tell just by his eyes that he was struggling with what to do. He didn't know whether to trust her. He didn't know anything. He was like a country child lost in the great city of Rome, overwhelmed by the enormity of his situation. He needed support, and coaxing. Agafya moved a step closer, still holding out what she had brought. "Please," she whispered. Her eyes fell to Cacofonix and Vitalstitistix, gazing over the conditions grimly. "I can help them."

Slowly, as though he were afraid it might hurt him, Fulliautomatix reached out and accepted the offering. The minute it was in his arms, a small spark of true hope reignited within him, and he turned hurriedly, passing out the food and blankets that had been given to them. The women assisted, and, without protest, let Agafya move in and assist them. The small, Greek woman helped settle the children in with warm fabric, especially the youngest ones. The Gauls were overcome with gratefulness, which only increased when they discovered that Agafya had wrapped several logs of wood for the hearth in the blankets. Unhygienix, now awake, went to work at once in getting the fire re-lit, using the barely perceivable embers to get it started. Before long, the hut was aglow with a low light and warmth, and color began to reappear in their bodies.

Cacofonix was moved closer to the fire and given an extra blanket and a piece of bread, which he thanked Agafya for with weak, but sincere gratefulness. She smiled at him, and it was the first any of the Gauls had seen her give. Then, with far more reverence and hesitancy, Agafya approached Impedimenta and Vitalstitistix.

The chieftain was still out cold, his breathing labored and uneven. Impedimenta was still griping his hand, and, since the door had first opened, she had not given Agafya a glance. The anger and fear coming off from her spirit was almost a palpable presence. She was slightly hunched over her husband's form, as though trying to protect him from any more harm. Her eyes, hidden mostly by stray hair as she bowed her head, were brimming with tears, though she refused to let anyone see.

"Impedimenta?" Agafya mentally winced, knowing that her familiarity with the name had not come from friendship. She knew most of the Gauls names, she realized, only because they seemed to call out to each other so often. They spoke each other's names so fondly, and with such familiarity, that Agafya had gained the same attitude for them, though, under the circumstances, she felt extremely unworthy to do so. This feeling deepened when Impedimenta neither answered her, nor acknowledged her. "Impedimenta, please…Let me help h-"

"Haven't you done enough?!" Impedimenta's angry, grief-driven shout caused all within the room to flinch, Agafya most of all. The chieftain's wife rose to her feet, dropping Vitalstitistix's hand in the process, focusing all her pain and fear into words of anger and betrayal. "What can you do to fix the harm you caused here in this village, our home, since you and your people arrived?! How can you help erase the pain and suffering that has been caused?! Look at him!" She pointed with a stiff, shaking finger to her husband at her feet. "My family is far away from me! He's all I have left! And now Lycurgus has…has allowed…" She broke down, all the anger leaving her voice as her tears once again ran freely. She lowered her face into her palms, shoulders shaking as she sank to the ground, regaining her place at Vitalstitistix's side. If she said any more, it was too muffled to be understood.

The room was enveloped in a tense, uncomfortable silence. All eyes were fixed on the floor, no one, except Agafya, able to look upon Impedimenta as she cried. It was like gazing upon a broken spirit; a spirit that matched their own, deep down inside. It was almost more than any of them could bear. Agafya stood rigid and undecided, eyes filling with her own tears and hands clenched over her heart. Her face was the very picture of anguish, showing her want to rush forward and hug the grief-stricken woman before her, but also her reluctance, for fear that her sympathy would be unwanted.

Finally, when the tension had simply grown too great, Fulliautomatix stepped forward. His voice held no malice, only a strong, almost desperate need to understand. His tone was quiet; tired. "Why is Lycurgus doing this?" Agafya turned to face him, and he could see the glint of light off of her moist eyes and wet cheeks. "Why is he doing this to us? There must be a reason…"

"There is." Agafya's voice was equally soft. "But it is not one that justifies…this." She gestured to Vitalstitistix, sadness coursing all through her. "Please…Let me do something to help him. I ask not for your forgiveness, and nothing for myself, only that you let me save him…"

Impedimenta did not answer right away, but her gaze left her hands and again fixed upon her husband's face. She couldn't lose him. She couldn't. Even if it meant trusting someone who had betrayed them, she couldn't let Vitalstitistix suffer because she was too stubborn to let the Greek woman help him. Finally, shifting aside and taking up Vitalstitistix's hand once more, the chieftain's wife nodded, giving her permission.

With a sense of nearly overwhelming relief, Agafya lowered herself next to the injured Gaul, taking out various items from the folds of her dress. The Gauls recognized them at once. "These are some of the medicinal potions your druid had in his home. I know something of herbs and such, and was able to find what would be required to help your leader." She began untying the bandage around Vitalstitistix's arm, her fingers gentle and caring, unlike the hand that had caused the wound in the first place. She winced, and her stomach turned slightly at the sight of the long, nasty slash as she revealed it, her guilt growing, even though the deed had not been her fault. She was connected to Lycurgus. His blame, was her blame. As she worked, she continued to apologize.

"I am…I am so sorry for all that has happened," she sniffed, trying to reign in the emotions that followed her words. "I never dreamed Lycurgus would allow such…such…" She gave up and started anew. "I do not agree with what he has done. His…His mind is changing. He is not the man he was when I married him." A faraway look came to her eyes as she applied a salve to the wound, one that took away the red irritation in Vitalstitistix's arm almost at once. "Back before we were captured and taken to Rome...He was a man full of compassion, and understanding…two things that the Arena soon stripped him of…forever it would seem…" Tears came to her eyes, adding to those that already existed. "I fear him, and his behavior…hurts more than I could ever express…"

Mrs. Geriatrix, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and holding her own husband's hand tightly, cocked her head, sensing the Greek woman's sincerity. "But…if he has become what he has, something you fear…why do you still follow him?"

A look of pained grief came into Agafya's features. "Because I am his wife." She sighed, starting to wrap up Vitalstitistix's arm once more, and pulling a few potions from the small collection she had brought with her. "And, though I both fear and despise what he is doing…I still love him. And…And, in his own way, I believe he still loves me." She gave Impedimenta a small smile, the Gaulish woman now actually looking her in the eyes. She handed her a small jar. "I found this among the druid's things. It will help him with the pain." She nodded to Cacofonix as well. "Him too. They will be both be alright." She turned, gathering the few things that she would be taking with her, moving across the room toward the door in a hurried fashion. As though she were afraid of what might happen if she stayed among them too long.

"Wait." Fulliautomatix gently caught her hand, keeping her from leaving. He looked her right in the eyes with a sense of strong feeling. "Thank you."

Agafya felt some of her pain diminish, those two words somehow freeing her soul just a little from the tight prison she had locked it in. She looked around her, seeing the same look of gratefulness in all the Gauls, and it warmed her heart.

Fulliautomatix released her, his face becoming a little more serious. "Do you…Could you somehow bring us some weapons? We need to get out of here. Maybe if you-"

"I cannot." The sadness returned to Agafya's face, along with a strong wave of fear. "Already, what I have done was against my husband's commands…If he knew I was here, I…I do not know what he would do to me…" She turned, leaving far more quickly. "I was able to get by the guards by telling them I had Lycurgus's permission. And even that could cost me…" She reached the door, opening it part way, she turned, but didn't meet any of their eyes. "I am sorry."

And, with that, she left.

* * *

 **Yay! Here's another! Poor Fulliautomatix, stuck in a room with all of these emotional women.**

 **I have some news for those of you who have read my other Asterix story "Safe and Sound". I am in the process of rewriting it. Don't worry, I'm not changing the story at all, I'm just going through each chapter and adding more detail, more emotion –you know. More of the stuff I have learned to do in my more resent writings. I wrote "Safe and Sound" back when I was first learning to write, and, well, though I loved it, and still do, I felt I could have done better. So, know I can! The first two chapters have been rewritten and have replaced the old ones. Enjoy!**

 **I was so excited last night, and I'll tell you why. Up until this point, I have been watching the newest animated Asterix movie (The Mansions of the Gods) in French. Which was fine, I understood most of what was happening, but, since my French is very, VERY limited, I didn't get all the jokes. I had still LOVED the movie, don't get me wrong, but there had been the whole language barrier to deal with. Well, last night someone said, "Hey, I heard that the movie has been dubbed in English and you can watch it online!" *My brain went into catatonic shock* I found it, and watched it with my brother and sister, and I must say, IT WAS AMAZING! I love the movie even more! The jokes, the humor, the characters words and voices –Ah! It was great. Just-Just great.**

 ***Cacofonix, as we have seen in the comics, is susceptible to getting sick in the colder months. Usually just colds and stuff of that sort. But, naturally, because of the situation, his cold has probably progressed to some form of Pneumonia, which can be extremely dangerous to certain people groups, such as very young children, older individuals, and people with a weakened immune system. Cacofonix falls into that last category. My great-grandfather died of Pneumonia.**


	23. Eye to Eye

They were making good progress, and that was something Itylus could appreciate. For such a band of unlikely traveling companions, they certainly were making very good time, if one considered the distance they were traversing. That and, despite the weather, they were still even alive at all. Since their rest in the cave a while back, they had been sufficiently warmed and fed from the hare Itylus had caught. Asterix had fallen asleep for a short time, not nearly as long as his body probably required, but enough to keep him going. He just couldn't sleep peacefully with the knowledge that Obelix was heading for a terrible danger, whether his friend knew it or not unknown, and that if they didn't reach him in time...Well, they tried not to think too deeply about that. 'If's are often better left alone, otherwise they eat away at one's hope, something they couldn't afford at the moment.

Onward the traveled, through the crusted snow and ice. The sky was clear and blue, not a sign of any clouds in sight, which promised at least the warmth of the sun on their shoulders. It made the chill more bearable.

Getafix was once again leading the way, unless you counted Dogmatix's small form sniffing about in front. Apparently the small pup had found his master'x trail, and was following it determinedly. Asterix had felt his heart give a joyful rise, knowing that Obelix was indeed still a living presence on the earth. It had started to feel as though his friend was no longer a physical entity, simply because it had been so long since they had seen any sign of him. It was like chasing a ghost. One could never be sure if they were truly following, catching up, but with Dogmatix's excited barking and tail wagging that feeling had disappeared. Obelix was out there, and they were catching up with him. by some miracle, they truly were. But that still didn't mean they weren't pressed for time. Obelix was still ahead.

Asterix slipped out of his thoughts, his mind being jolted back to focus when he realized he was no longer walking alone. The entire trip it had always either been him or Getafix leading, and whenever he was not he was sandwiched in the middle, with Itylus far in the rear, as far from them as possible while still following. But now, as Getafix led and Asterix took his place in the center of the line, Itylus had quickened his pace slightly. His long legs soon placed him at Asterix's side, a shy, almost sheepish look on his face. Asterix looked up at him with a warm smile, glad that, perhaps, Itylus was not quite as unfriendly as he seemed. They walked that way in silence, slightly uncomfortable in each other's company, but not unbearably so. Finally, when he could stand it no longer, Itylus spoke; a soft, slightly embarrassed way, but nothing near his usual, contemptible self.

"You do much for your friend," he said, eyes flitting to Getafix's back, as though making sure the druid would not hear them. "For you to care so much, he must be a very close person to your heart." He had learned how sentimental these Gauls could be, and, without his meaning to, Itylus found himself slowly beginning to see a sort of connection, warmth, between them. He didn't understand it, but now, unlike before, he wanted to understand.

Asterix nodded, keeping his eyes on the ground at his feet, watching out for patches of ice, so as not to fall. His arm was hurting, and a fall would surely only increase his pain. Getafix was starting to run out of herbs to ease the aching, and they had started to have no choice but cut back on the amount in between treatments. But Asterix could deal with it just fine. And now, with Itylus speaking to him it was a welcome distraction, one that the little Gaul took appreciatively. "He is," he answered sincerely. "He's the closest thing I have to a brother."

"I see." Itylus paused, seeming to struggle with how to word his next question. "How...What is it like to...to have a friend like Obelix? Or any friend at all for that matter?" After he said it, Itylus realized what his question inferred, that he had never had a friend. Of course, that was more or less true, and Itylus hated to admit it, even to himself. He expected Asterix to laugh, perhaps even scornfully; make example of his weak, almost emotional question. But the Gaul did no such thing.

Asterix's shoulders seemed to relax, un-tensing despite the fact he hadn't even known he was holding himself so stiffly. A warm feeling filled his chest as a fond glint entered his eyes and expression. He smiled gently. "Well, it's a sort of...Hmm, how to explain it. When I'm with a friend, I feel safe, and...And all I can be. I feel as though, when I'm with a true friend, I am as much me as I ever could be. There's nothing to hide, nothing to pretend. It's just me and them, and that's all that matters. I've always felt that way with all my village, but Obelix especially. It's the sort of familiarity that means you can understand things, just by meeting someone's eye. Obelix can always sense when I need him, as I can sense when he needs me. It's a sort of...connection, I suppose. With the others it's a little weaker, but with Obelix...I don't know. I just feel as though he and I are more when we're at each other's side. Two halves that, when together, make a whole." Asterix's gaze became saddened, as the smallest prick of emotional grief struck him deeply. "Without Obelix...I'm just...me. Together, we make up something neither of us can be alone. He is part of who I am. My closest and dearest friend. That's why I have to find him, before he...before he..." He couldn't even bring himself to say it.

The entire time Asterix had been speaking, Itylus had watched the short Gaul's face intently. He soaked in Asterix words, finding himself feeling disheartened. "I have not experienced such a feeling," he muttered darkly, eyes fixed down and to the side, but then his gaze softened. "At least...not for a very long time. I have not felt connected with anyone for many years. It has been just me, and me alone." He straightened defiantly, a little bit of his old attitude returning. "Lycurgus says that friends, ties between people, make one weak. That they drain the body and mind of the strength one needs to be a true warrior. Friendship is a man's greatest weakness."

"Maybe," Asterix replied gently, stepping over a log half buried in the snow. The going was getting more and more difficult for him, seeing as the land had become far rougher, especially for one of his stature. But he did not complain. His brow was furrowed, eyes holding a sort of understanding concern. "But it can also be a man's greatest strength." He paused, sending Itylus a quick glance. "I, for one, know that I would never be able to do half the things I do if it weren't for those I care about. They give me a...a reason. A reason to live, and breath, and fight. To give my all for their safety. Don't you see?"

He looked up at Itylus, but received no answer. Not a verbal one anyway. It was only the look of conflict in the taller man's face that gave it away. That pained look in Itylus's eyes that told of confusion and indecision. Asterix could understand that look perfectly. He himself had held it in is own expression many times. Instead of pushing it, Asterix changed his question. "You must have had a friend at some point. Everyone has friends." He became thoughtful. "You are Lycurgus's 'Right Hand', as he called you. Aren't you friends with him? To have earned such a place of honor in his mind?"

"Once," was all Itylus could come up with. "Once." He shook his head, a sort of saddened gaze searching the landscape, but not truly seeing it. "When we were younger, before the Romans took us from our homes...Lycurgus and I were quite close. I suppose...we too were like brothers. Much like you and Obelix." A hint of reminiscing agony filled his voice, and he fell silent.

Asterix shared in his silence, then tentatively asked, "Romans? What do you mean they took you from your homes? You mean they raided?"

"Yes. We were far younger at the time. I was still just a young man." Itylus shook his head. "They came and ravaged the land. We fought, but there was little we could do. Those of us who were caught were sent to the Arena. And those of us who survived...well, as far as those from our home, Lycurgus and I are the only ones left."

The wings on Asterix's helmet drooped, and his voice filled with true, honest, sincerity. "I'm so sorry." He couldn't even imagine what it must be like to lose your entire village. And yet he knew, without the power of the Magic Potion, without Getafix's help, that would very likely have been their fate. Many Gauls had fallen to Rome's might, and they certainly would have been defeated, destroyed, if not for their miraculous strength. But others had not been so lucky. Asterix felt almost ill with the thought. If he lost his friends, Obelix, Vitalstitistix, Unhygienix, Fulliautomatix, any of them, it would be a blow he wasn't sure he could ever recover from. To lose them all would be...Would be more than he could bare. No wonder Lycurgus was so dead set against getting close to people. When one had lost everything, everyone...Even Asterix could see himself becoming the contemptible, strength-obsessed individual that Lycurgus now was. It filled him with an understanding, a pity that had not been there before.

"That is in the past," Itylus answered stiffly, with a hint of resolution. "And dwelling on the past is surely weakening. According to Lycurgus."

Asterix wasn't sure, but that might actually be the truest thing he had known Lycurgus to say. Though it still lacked full truth. The past could really haunt someone, and, if left to its own devices, could control a person fully. It was the future that always offered hope, but it was always wise to learn from the past, just so long as one did not dwell in it. Something that, in all honesty, all the Gauls had been struggling with since five months before. "You sound like you're beginning to doubt him," the blond Gaul said with a small smile, eyeing Itylus with almost a playful look. But Itylus either didn't catch it, or didn't feel like returning it. His face and eyes still held serious grimness.

"Maybe I am."

Asterix was quiet a moment, trying to determine what he should say. He knew what he wanted to say, but he didn't want to turn Itylus away from what little progress he had made. But, then again, Itylus was a very straightforward man. Perhaps the way to make him understand, was to simply lay everything out in the open. Coming to a halt, feet planted in the snow, Asterix turned to face Itylus fully. "Itylus, listen, I don't agree with Lycurgus's beliefs. I don't agree with how he sees life, or worth, or anything, but I know this. In some cases, he is right. He's right that strength is important in this world. He's right that friendships can be a distraction. He's right that the past can be harmful. But there's two sides to every coin. For every strength, there is always a weakness. For every friend, there is an enemy. And for every bad past, there is a brighter future. You can't have any without its opposite. And if you try to separate them, they only become a mangled part of a healthy whole. Everyone needs all of it, together. Without it...we're just not us." He smiled softly. "I wouldn't give up my past, my weaknesses, or my friends for anything. They're worth it, to be who I am."

It was Itylus's turn to fall silent. He too stood in the snow, eyes studying the white flakes at his feet, deep in thought. Finally, with the smallest hint of a smile, he raised his eyes to meet Asterix's own. "I am beginning to see that," he spoke gently. "Thank you, Asterix. You are truly a brave and loyal warrior."

Asterix blushed, embarrassed. "I'm simply being a good friend."

"Oh, for Toutatis sake!"

Asterix turned his head to Getafix, who had cried out in frustration, causing the blond warrior to miss the look of utter surprise that flashed across Itylus's face. Running forward through the snow, Asterix came up along beside the flustered druid, with Itylus lagging slightly behind in a sort of daze.

"What is it, Getafix? What's wrong?

The druid stood stiff and annoyed, looking out across the frozen wasteland before them, a whimpering Dogmatix at his feet. "It's Obelix's trail," Getafix growled. "It seems he's gone off in the wrong direction. Not headed to Burdigala at all."

"But," Asterix cocked his head in confusion, "That doesn't really change anything. We just need to follow him. Right?"

Getafix shook his head, stomping his feet in the snow softly in an effort to warm them with the movement. "Not necessarily. Say that Obelix is one or two days ahead of us. And say he got lost. By the time we reach the spot where he become 'unlost', Obelix might already be in Burdigala."

Itylus tried to make sense of the druid's logic, and, after a moment, found that it carried a large amount of truth. "Then what should we do?"

"We must carry on our present course," Getafix answered with a firm nod, eyeing the white landscape with determination. "If we do that, there is still a very good chance we will reach the city before he does." His tone quivered a bit at the end, entailing his slight tremor of uncertainty. Even a druid cannot be positive all the time, though Getafix always tried his very best to do so. "Obelix will reach Burdigala eventually, even if he has taken a wrong turn. And we need to be there to stop him. Before it's too late. But it's going to be cutting it close."

Asterix nodded without a word, turning and walking with the shore of the sea to his right. His back now to the direction Obelix had taken, Asterix couldn't help the shudder that ran through him. It was like turning his back on his closest friend, at least physically. But in his mind, their ties of friendship had never been as strong. Never been as strong as now, when they were separated. It was hard, and frightening, but he trusted Getafix's judgment. But that didn't mean he didn't have a right to worry.

* * *

 **Hey! Yes, yes I know. After all the time that has passed since I last posted, you'd think I would have written more. I've just been so insanely busy with paperwork. I am graduating this semester from community college, and I had to do a whole bunch of paperwork for transferring to a four-year college. I'm so nervous! I'm a small town country girl, and now I'm going on to a college that's almost a city all in itself! Truthfully...I'm scared out of my mind...**

 **Well, here's something cool: I've told you all how my brother is super good with learning languages (he knows more than twenty), right? Well, the other day I came across some material and said "No way!" I brought it to my brother and asked if he could help me learn it, and he said he could. So, ladies and gentleman, I am now learning to read and speak Ancient Gaulish! Or, at least, what I can find of it. It's a dead language, but my brother says it is very close to Latin. Might take me a while, but right now I am learning to count and know my colors in Gaulish. :D It will be so much fun!**


	24. Out of the Woodwork

Agafya's compassion and bravery, however slight, had done wonders for the Gaulish prisoners. With just her few, simple gifts, snuck in by a nudge of conscience, she had managed to turn a dark and dismal cell into a warm and hopeful chamber. The fire, fueled by the logs she had brought them, gave warmth to all, turning barely glowing embers to hot and crackling flames that cast long shadows in every direction. The stiffness in their limbs and overall sickness of their bodies was improving, diminished by the chasing away of the frigid air and the darkness. The Gauls could no longer see their breath on the air, reveling in the heat the hearth now gave them, for however long it might last. Some even removed themselves from their blankets, casting them aside, almost _too_ warm. Though, they highly doubted they could ever be truly _over_ heated. After the time they had spent under the cruel chill of winter, it was a wonder they didn't curl up in the very flames themselves.

The children were fed, their stomachs appeased by the food Agafya had brought. It renewed strength and energy, prompting the little ones to play quietly in the corner, as children are apt to do, even in captivity. Those who had been suffering from illness were doing better, now that heat had been provided and food had eased the incessant gnawing in their guts. Even Cacofonix, who had to all seemed almost on the very brink of death, was now up and moving about, weak, but not inhibitingly so. His complexion and breathing had improved, much to the villagers' relief, as well as the bard's own. His coughing was still present, but it did not contain the body-wracking mercilessness of before. Whatever remedy Agafya had found in Getafix's hut had proved very powerful, and, just as with all of their druid's work, left them in awe at its miraculous healing. The same could be said for Vitalstitistix, who, after his own dosage that Impedimenta had given him with the utmost care, became fully conscious. Though in considerable pain, the slash in his arm burning like a dull fire, the Chieftain was very much himself, even trying to rise to take up his role as leader before he was really in shape for. Impedimenta had stopped that in short order, forcing him back down against the blankets gently, but firmly, telling him that she would not have him up and about, hurting himself more, when there was no immediate cause to do so.

Vitalstitistix hadn't liked it, at least outwardly, but inwardly he was glad. He still felt terribly weak, and a bit dizzy, Getafix's potion not being capable of fixing all his ailings. He sunk back down into his previous position, listening quietly as he was told of Agafya's kindness that very well might have saved more than one of the Gauls' lives. "I had a feeling she wasn't quite on his side," the Chieftain muttered, trying to shift his shoulders and back in a way that didn't pull the dressing on his arm. He did not quite succeed.

"A right does not necessarily make what her people have done forgivable," Impedimenta huffed, preparing a bit of food for her husband, though she wasn't sure Vitalstitistix would be wanting any. He was still rather pale, and the recollection of his ordeal, if it bothered him half as much as it did her, surely might make his stomach tight and queasy. Her face softened. "But…she didn't have to take the risk she did. For that, I suppose she has earned my gratitude." The others knew that that was as close as Impedimenta would ever get to saying she forgave the women, even if she still sided with Lycurgus. But what could Impedimenta argue against her? That Agafya was loyal and true to her husband, even though he had become corrupt and cruel? Deep in her heart, the Gaulish woman felt a twinge of pity, and an almost tangible sorrow. It made Impedimenta wonder what she would do, should Vitalstitistix ever follow a similar path. He never would, of that she was certain, but what if he did? What would she do if the man she loved became cruel and deluded by some sense of an abstract dream, hurting others even in his efforts to reach his goal? With a dark sense of understanding, Impedimenta had realized she would have followed him, just as Agafya had followed Lycurgus. And that fact, as revealing and frightening though it might be, enabled her to forgive in her heart the woman who had, in a sense, betrayed them.

Fulliautomatix stood restlessly beside where Impedimenta and Vitalstitistix rested, with Unhygienix, Geriatrix, and Cacofonix by his side. In this manner, the Village Council, down a few members though it may be, were able to gather and speak quietly, without the other villagers listening in. In most Gaulish communities, councils usually comprised of a druid, the chieftain, and, if there was one available, a bard; but over their years in their opposition against Caesar, the Gauls' own Council had grown to include a total of eight men, if one also counted Vitalstitistix. Getafix, Asterix, Obelix, Fulliautomatix, Unhygienix, Cacofonix, and Geriatrix made up the other seven persons, all men that the Chieftain had come to trust and value in his rule as leader. For sometimes, very often in fact, a man cannot truly rule alone.

The blacksmith rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, trying to press away the stress-induced ache that had seemed to reside there. A bit of hope had returned to his face, but with a knowledge and understanding that they needed to act, before their luck began to run out. Agafya had reduced their suffering, but she might not be able to do so again. "We have to find a way out of here." It was the fourth or fifth time he had spoken those words, but no one seemed to mind, since they were all thinking very much the same thing. "We have to get out and away from here."

"You mean, leave the village?" Unhygienix cried softly, his shout more of a harsh whisper. He was standing to Cacofonix's left, pretending that he had no other reason for doing so outside of him simply being there. But his motives were a little more honorable, seeing as he was providing the bard with a helping hand, someone to lean on, should Cacofonix suddenly need it. The villagers had not liked the idea of the bard getting up from his place by the fire so soon after his recovery, but he had insisted. He claimed that, despite him being 'a little under the weather', he had every intention of assisting where he could. His place was on the Council, and in the Council he would be. And, despite a cough and a slight rasp in his throat, Cacofonix seemed well enough, though Unhygienix was not willing to take the chance.

"Well, what else can we do?" Fulliautomatix grouched irritably, pinching the bridge of his nose and shutting his eyes tightly. He was very tired, exhausted even, though, beside his subtle hints of discomfort, he was hiding it well. "Lycurgus has got us sealed up in here, as tight as a damp cork in a bottleneck, we have limited supplies of any kind, and the doors are guarded. If we do manage to get out of here, we won't be able to stick around…" He trailed off, his gaze flitting to Vitalstitistix, as though he was afraid he had overstepped his bounds in authority. In the time the chieftain had been unconscious, the blacksmith had grown accustomed to being in charge. He had really had no choice. But now that Vitalstitistix was at least awake, he feared he was stepping on his friend's position more than he should have been.

Vitalstitistix, however, was gazing up at the blacksmith with an almost radiating trust. A look that Fulliautomatix recognized as the same respect the chieftain often held for Asterix. It was as though all their squabbles and arguments in the past, from childhood right up to adulthood, had never mattered. Or maybe it was because of them that the Chieftain put such faith in him. All the Gauls knew each other extremely well, Fulliautomatix and Vitalstitistix being no exception. They knew each others faults, as well as each others strengths. And Vitalstitistix had always seen a leadership in Fulliautomatix that the blacksmith had never seen himself. That he still didn't see.

"What do _you_ think we should do?"

The Chieftain's question caught Fulliautomatix off guard, as everyone in the assembled Council turned to him with great attention. It threw the blacksmith for a stun, and for a moment, he wasn't really sure what to say. The words were silently asking for help, while at the same time, almost challenging. "I-I'm not completely sure…But, by Toutatis, I won't let Lycurgus beat us!" Fulliautomatix turned his back on them, tucking his hands under his arms in a self-conscious manner, as though to resist the urge to curl up in defense. But instead he tried to focus his nervous energy on their situation, staying on subject far better than he ever had in the past. He began systematically going over the facts, as he had seen Asterix do over and over throughout the years. "We're trapped," he stated, with not nearly the emotion the words required. "Or, at least, Lycurgus thinks we're trapped. But my father built this shop, and if I know anything about my father, there must be some sort of weak spot." He glanced about himself. "Somewhere."

Semiautomatix had not been an architect by any means. A blacksmith through and through, he had held no skill for any other work, but had been too proud to ask for anyone else to do it for him. In the end, it hadn't been too bad, though what later became Fulliautomatix's home and shop was noted far and wide as being rather oddly shaped when it came to cottages. Semiautomatix was renowned for his projects lasting a year are two, before crumbling under the lack of considerate construction on his part. His metal-craft and cottage being the only things to survive that fate.

"There has to be a way out of here," Fulliautomatix insisted, turning again and running his eyes alone the walls of the shop. "Some fault that he tried to cover up…I know there has to be some; he was always patching up this place."

Geriatrix gave a gentle chuckle, agreeing whole-heartedly, as he remembered it very well.

"Maybe if we broke through the wall somehow," Impedimenta suggested. "Going by how quickly it got cold in here, the walls can't be too thick." She looked up at the cracked and peeling wood in slight distaste. Even in their situation, she couldn't quite shake the attitude she had always had toward dark, dirty, or dingy places. Before this whole incident had started, Impedimenta had never truly set foot in the blacksmith's shop, believing it to be one of those types of places she wouldn't be caught dead in. Now, of course, despite the slightest wrinkling of her nose, she was quite grateful for the shelter, even if it did smell slightly of must, sweat, and rusty iron. The walls, chipped though it may be, might be thin but they were sturdy, not letting in nearly as much cold air as they might have, though the downside was that there were no openings to the outside world that she or anyone else could see.

Geriatrix nodded wisely. He had to lean against various things for support, still not having his T-shaped cane. It was something that he never realized; how much he needed it, until he found himself without he odd shaped cane. As a Gaul of his age, it was a great help, when he was not under the power of the Magic Potion. But, as himself, he hated to admit it, but he was pretty frail. And the Greeks treatment of him had only made that all the more clear. The elder lifted his eyes to gaze toward the door, as well as toward the barricaded stairway that would have led to Fulliautomatix's cottage above. "And all the windows and doors in here are blocked, either sealed from the outside or guarded. The wall would be the only other option."

Fulliautomatix shook his head despairingly, giving his shoulders an uneasy shift. "That's all well and good, but these walls are steadier than they look. We'd need something to hack our way through the wood, and the Greeks didn't leave us with any of our tools or weapons." Lycurgus had made sure of that. Every single bit of useful scrape iron or wood, along with every forging device the blacksmith had had to his name, was gone. He subconsciously hoped that they were still intact, and not cast into the sea, or whatever else the Greeks might have done with them. Most of them he had crafted in his apprenticeship to his father, while others still were made by Semiautomatix himself. Each one held a meaning and a story. But, of course, Fulliautomatix would have gladly sacrificed them all if it meant that the villagers themselves were safe.

Vitalstitistix tried to sit up a little straighter, finding that his reclining position was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. Impedimenta reached to help him, and she looked on him in sympathy as he winced. Lying on the floor, even on top of a few wool blankets, was anything but pleasant. Unlike the dirt floors of their cottages, the blacksmith shop floor had never been made for sleeping. Its surface was rough and pitted, rather than smooth and hard packed. Potholes of all manner of sizes created dark pits in every corner, including beneath the chieftain. He wanted to get up, but Impedimenta wouldn't let him, her hand held firm, pressing down on his uninjured arm whenever he tried. But, at least, he was able to still perform his duty as chief, meeting in the Council, even if he had to do it lying down. "Couldn't you just, you know, push through, Fulliautomatix?"

"I'm strong," the blacksmith replied, a little indignantly, looking down at himself with a hint of stressed frustration. "But not _that_ strong. Especially without the power of the Magic Potion."

"If only Obelix were here," Impedimenta sighed sadly, her hands clasped in her lap.

"Maybe we can make something to cut through," Cacofonix spoke up softly, his voice still distinctly rough from coughing. It was sore, which was partly why he hadn't spoke up sooner. Not until he felt he had something worth the effort. "Something that we can use as a tool or weapon?" It was a fairly good suggestion, better than anything they had come up with so far. He and the others glanced around themselves, searching for the slightest possibility of accomplishing such a thing. All it would take would be a pole or a beam, something perhaps with a bit of weight. But, sadly, they were sorely disappointed. Lycurgus's men had been thorough. As having once been prisoners themselves in Rome, the Greeks knew well what to look for and take when imprisoning others.

"Oh, by Belenos!" Unhygienix gritted in frustration, his fear for his friends and family pushing his emotions high. Though he had been given a little food, rationed out from Agafya's mercy, his stomach still felt painfully empty. It had made him queasy and grumpy, and the added endless waiting for only more trouble was tipping his patience closer and closer to its edge. "I say we just open that confounded door and rush the guards!"

Fulliautomatix was pinching the bridge of his nose again, his aching neck and head having worsened. He vaguely wondered if he was coming down with something, but then supposed he was just through with all these heavy responsibilities. "Unhygienix," he growled warningly, looking the fishmonger right in the eyes as he let his hand fall limply back to his side. His words were laced with barely controlled patience, and a large amount of exhaustion. "If we _did_ that, someone would get _hurt_ …or _worse_. Those guards have spears, and I doubt they would hesitate to use them." He emphasized each word with a shake of his finger a few inches from Unhygienix's face. " _We_. _Need_. _Weapons_."

Unhygienix swatted the finger away angrily, his eyes filled with a mix of fear and rage. Fear over how true the blacksmith's words actually were, and rage over not wanting to accept it. "And where are we going to get them, Fulliautomatix?!" he shouted heatedly, ignoring the shushing coming from both Impedimenta and Cacofonix in an effort to calm him down. It didn't work. "Where are we going to get them?! Out of the woodwork?!" He turned and stomped several paces away, not seeming to notice that his loud yell had caught the attention of every other person in the shop. The Gauls were all staring at the Council with wide, frightened eyes, the children in the corner having stopped their playing to watch with simple confusion and anxiety, not truly understanding, but sensing how tense the grown ups had become. The Council members themselves lowered their eyes to the floor, knowing that there was much more pain than anger to Unhygienix's tone. They had faced this sort of thing before, maybe not in this form, but certainly in its intensity. Back when Mastix had overshadowed their home, the same tone had snuck into many of their voices; that immense mix of terror and hopelessness. Of course the fishmonger was frightened. His own son, who thankfully hadn't suffered any ill affects, had been threatened by Lycurgus. The sound of fists pounding against an outside door would forever hold that memory, and it was a hard one to bear. Most of the Gauls understood that, or at least remembered it at that moment.

All except Fulliautomatix, who, true to his nature, was glaring at the fishmonger's back with the usual hostility he held in reserve for the village's 'not-so-fresh' fish fights. His irritability now at its peak, he was only a small fraction away from seriously throwing himself at his friend and knocking some sense into him, just as they had always done when they disagreed about anything. It would have been a good way to release some of the pent up emotions he was feeling himself, but, deep down, Fulliautomatix feared that, in his current state, he might actually end up hurting Unhygienix for real. And that was something he would never forgive himself for. Apparently, the other Gauls were concerned about that very thing, as they all watched the blacksmith standing there stiffly, hands clenched at his sides and teeth gritted. A few, it seemed, though maybe Fulliautomatix was mistaken, had even risen to their feet, should the need to hold the blacksmith back should arise.

But then, slowly, and quite unexpectedly, like the dawn showing through on a foggy morning, Unhygienix's words sunk in, and Fulliautomatix's eyes widened with a sudden realization. A sudden memory. The anger disappeared from his stance and expression, being replaced by one of shock, before that little flame of choked hope ignited within him with such intensity, it was a wonder he didn't faint.

"That's it!" he cried, his face suddenly a bright smile. He leaped forward, embracing the startled fishmonger in a tight, uncharacteristic hug. "Unhygienix, you're a genius!" With an energy he had lacked only a moment before, Fulliautomatix released his friend and rushed across the length of the shop, skirting around the nervous villagers, who did their best to scoot out of his way. The blacksmith reached the far back wall, the one to the left of the door where the shadows were darkest, giving it a searching glance before he began running his large hands up and down and around its surface. The material was rough and strong, but, if his memory served him correctly, it wouldn't all be. He kept up his tactic, even when a few splinters embedded in his palm, causing a pinching prick in the skin. He ignored it, driven by a sudden idea that he prayed was as he remembered it.

The villagers watched him in startled confusion, a sad, dull gleam in their eyes as they observed, as though they were truly convinced his behavior was strictly mental. Even Impedimenta, who, like the others, had followed behind Fulliautomatix as a distance, seemed unnerved by his sudden change in mood. Fulliautomatix had never been susceptible to such quick changes before. Usually, he was quite predictable, as far as having two main emotions, irritable, and _ready_ to be irritable. "Um...Fulliautomatix? What are you doing?"

"Getting us some weapons," the blacksmith replied promptly, not even glancing at her as he continued his frantic search across the wall space. Fulliautomatix could feel the cool draft against his hands as the wind pushed the air through even the smallest of cracks. Despite that, however, the walls were still very sturdy, with nothing indicating what he was looking for. He finished one height and was now on his knees, feeling along the structure's base, checking even as far as the floor itself.

The Gauls exchanged looks worriedly, and Mrs. Fulliautomatix had stepped forward, looking especially worried. It was Unhygienix who seemed the most uneasy, mostly out of guilt, if the expression on his face was anything to go by. He knew that Fulliautomatix was stressed, burdened with responsibilities he never would have born normally, and that, apparently, was beginning to take its toll. Fulliautomatix must be folding beneath the burden he was bearing. The fishmonger hadn't given any thought to how his arguing might effect their friend, and now he felt solely responsible for whatever madness had taken hold of the blacksmith, and felt prompted to try and fix it. With shame written on his features, Unhygienix edged forward, laying a hesitant hand on Fulliautomatix's shoulder as the blacksmith continued his search. "Uh..Uh, Fulliautomatix, um, listen, I'm sorry...Here, how about you, you know, come lie down for a little while. Just, rest up a bit...You've been under a lot of-"

Fulliautomatix distractedly shrugged out of Unhygienix's hold, giving a huff of annoyance as the fishmonger backed away uncertainly. "I am _not_ going crazy, it that's what you're all thinking," the blacksmith stated firmly, running his dry hands over the wood, making a soft, sandy brushing sound with his touch. He would stop every now and then, giving a firm push, pressing the full weight of his shoulder and back it the motion. Knocking against it would be unwise, as it might get the attention of the guards outside, which none of them wanted. While the guards had become accustomed to their sometimes raised voices, the sound of banging would surely not be taken well.

"I didn't say th-"

"You didn't have to." Fulliautomatix sighed with a hint of ill patience, pausing his actions to stand up and face his fellow villagers, who all stood in a clump, feeling uncertain. "Look. My father lived during the times of Caesar's early conquests, just as all our parents did. Back then, since we didn't have the Magic Potion, my father was always worried that our village would be next on Caesar's list to conquer. When I was very little, I remember him telling me that, should the Romans ever attack, there was a secret panel he had built, other than the one I hid the Greeks weapons in, that held _Gaulish_ swords. In case of invasion." He turned back to the wall in frustration. "Only trouble is, I don't remember where it is. I'm pretty sure that it has been left untouched all these years, since I didn't even remember it until just now. It has to be here!" He went back to his task, turning his back on his friends once again.

The villagers blinked, surprise evident on each and every face, before they all launched forward to join in the blacksmith's search. Fulliautomatix, despite his focus on his task, couldn't help the small smile that graced his features, glad that his friends had finally understood and were willing to give him a hand. He had a feeling that hidden panel was there. He was almost certain about it. It had been so long since he had thought of it, it seemed more like a faded dream than a memory. Doubt pricked vaguely at him, but he brushed it aside. This was their only hope, and he'd believe in it no matter how small the chance of it being real might be. Unhygienix sheepishly settled beside him, running his own hands over the wall and muttering something about why Fulliautomatix hadn't thought of this before.

"Because it was a long time ago," the blacksmith responded lowly, grouchily, yet so soft only the fishmonger could hear him. He reached a new spot on the wall and gathered his energy for a firm push. "And I didn't even think of it unti- _Agh!_ "

With a cry of surprise and a slight gasp of pain, Fulliautomatix's hand fell through into the wall. Having not quite been prepared, he fell forward, startling the others, as well as himself, as his right shoulder slammed against the structure with a loud bang, his arm disappearing into the woodwork up to his elbow. The Gauls froze, knowing that the sound was more than enough to gain the attention of their captors. Thinking quickly, Soporifix, Unhygienix, and a few others stood in front of the blacksmith's hunched form, gathering the other villagers around them to effectively block Fulliautomatix from view, just as the door to the shop opened and an angry guard appeared. The Greek's eyes roved the pale faces, noticing the warmth of the chamber with distaste. Even if Lycurgus had given his wife permission to warm and feed these barbarians, the Greek was still against it. He gave a sneer, brandishing his spear menacingly.

"Quiet in here, or I'll give you something to silence you myself!" he threatened darkly, his voice a low hiss that promised delivery if they didn't comply. He glared over the assembly, before leaving and slamming the door shut behind him with a bang that rattled the shop from floor to roof.

The Gauls let out a shaky breath of relief, before they quickly turned to try and assist Fulliautomatix. They reached to help the blacksmith to his feet, but Fulliautomatix waved them back with his free hand, wincing as he shifted away from the wall enough to see what had truly happened. His arm was still through the wood, which, apparently, had become rotten over the course of time. It was far from soft, however, plainly seen by the thin, red scratches the splintered wood had made up and down Fulliautomatix's arm. But, rather than pulling his hand out, the blacksmith began to carefully shift it around inside, feeling about inside the cavity that dwelled behind the wall. Fulliautomatix suppressed a shudder, feeling his fingers brush up against, and become entangled in, thin bits of fine gossamer, which he knew to be spider webs. At one point, despite the winter outside, he thought he felt something small, and long-legged crawl swiftly over his thumb.

"Are you alright?" Cacofonix spoke up gently, having come to crouch to the blacksmith's left. He seemed genuinely concerned, especially with all the grimacing Fulliautomatix was subconsciously doing. "Is it stuck?"

"...No..." The blacksmith shifted again, trying to reach deeper within the woodwork without scratching his arm up more. "No, but I think this is what we were looking for..." It was a little lower than he had imagined it, but that didn't matter as long as-

Steel. There was no mistaking the cold touch of metal. Fulliautomatix knew it better than anyone else, having been accustomed to its feel since he was young. With a light gasp, the blacksmith felt his fingers brush up against it. Carefully, he enclosed his hand around it, mindful of edges, before he slowly began to draw his arm from the hole. The object refused to fit at first, but after a moment of shifting, it finally came free.

"By Toutatis..." Unhygienix breathed, as Fulliautomatix carefully drew a small dagger from the woodwork. It was slightly rusty, dotted with mottled red across the clear, bright iron blade. It was laced in pattern, flecks of gold, bronze, and even silver, doubtless all very expensive. Maybe even imported from Lutetia, many years before.

Fulliautomatix held the weapon up triumphantly, handing it to Unhygienix with a smile. "There's your weapons out of the woodwork!" He turned back to the hole his arm had made, griping the sides and straining to tear pieces away and make it bigger. "Come on, give me a hand!"

Hope renewed, the Gauls rushed to help him, hands tearing at the splintering wood, breaking it away and widening the cavity. The more squeamish individuals stepped back, as there were a number of insects that had taken to hibernating within the rotten debris. They skittered and scampered to escape their ruined abode, disappearing into the cracks at the wall base, out of sight.

And then there they were. An assortment of swords, daggers, and a single shortsword, not all that unlike the one Asterix owned. They, like the first blade, were rusty in places, even though their craft was still impressive. Semiautomatix had surely been a master at his work, though where he had gained the resources for such beautiful weapons was beyond anyone's knowledge. Of course, they had been made before the Gaulish civilization had fallen to Roman rule. Or, almost. Caesar could try, but he would never truly defeat the Gauls. Not if they had anything to say about it.

Fulliautomatix pulled the weapons out, blowing off some of the dust as he handed them to the others. "Alright. Now we've got something to fight our way out with," he said, climbing to his feet. He rubbed a hand over his scratched arm, discovering that they were bleeding, though only a little. "Only trouble is, we need to decide where we're going if we _can_ get away." He looked to Vitalstitistix, who, despite Impedimenta's immediate disapproval, was struggling to his feet. Fulliautomatix didn't feel qualified to make this decision, and turned to the only individual he felt that did. "We're not even dressed for out in this weather. We can't just head out and hope for the best."

"I agree." Vitalstitistix winced, holding his injured arm stiffly at his side. He felt a little lightheaded, probably due to all the blood he had lost, but it wasn't so bad that he couldn't retain his balance. "We'll need warmth and a source of food. Shelter."

Cacofonix flitted his gaze between the blacksmith and their chief, appearing more or less distressed. "Um, wouldn't it be better if we just stayed here?" He was still feeling rather ill, though he was doing his valiant best not to show it. Leaving the interior of the shop, as freeing as that might be, would also be a terrible shock of cold. And he felt he had already had enough of that, of his own free will or no.

Fulliautomatix shook his head, responding almost kindly. "We can't. Lycurgus has left us alone for a time, but I doubt that will last much longer. He's getting more desperate, and that means he's getting more dangerous." He shook his head one final time. "We have to leave. There's caves in the forest, many of which are stocked with supplies, thanks to Getafix's experiments. You know how he sometimes spends days and nights out there. There'll be wood for fires and a fair amount of food. We just have to get from here to there without any incidents."

"But most of us haven't got any shoes," Unhygienix pointed out, looking down at his own bare feet pityingly. Though he was used to being without any footwear in the summer, in the winter was another matter entirely. The forced walk from his hut to the shop had nearly turned them blue, until the hearth had warmed them again. His own children and wife were in the same situation, as were many of the other Gauls. The fishmonger then gestured to Vitalstitistix and Cacofonix. "And what about them? The Chief's hurt, and our bard is still sick. If they get chilled, it could..." He cut himself off, having intended to use a far more morbid possibility. Instead he settled on a shaky, "It would be bad."

The blacksmith nodded, casting his eyes down to the final sword that he had pulled from the wall cavity, holding it in his hands. Sometimes it just felt like every time he figured out one problem, there was another one to step in and block his way again. It was incredibly frustrating. With a sigh, he let the weapon fall from his hands, allowing it to land with a metallic _ching_ on top of the others, which were lying on a blanket at his feet. That way, if the guards came in, they could simply hide them by wrapping them...up?

For the second time that day, Fulliautomatix's sudden smile confused his fellow Gauls, as the blacksmith straightened. moving to grab several of the discarded rags they had been using for warmth only a short time before. "The blankets!" He held them out to his wife, who took the bundle unsteadily, the weight of the fabric almost causing her to stumble. Fulliautomatix motioned to the bard by the wall. "Cacofonix, come here!" While his voice was excited, he made sure to keep it to as close of a whisper as he could.

Cacofonix gave the blacksmith a strange look, but, having learned from Fulliautomatix's victory in finding the weapons, he obeyed. Moving forward, he reached the blacksmith's side, watching in curiosity as Fulliautomatix grabbed one blanket from his wife's arms and a dagger from the weapons pile, cutting into the fabric with a haste that didn't inhibit his skill at slicing through.

"Sit down."

Cacofonix obeyed.

Having cut two, decant-sized squared out of the rag, plus two thin, string-like strips, Fulliautomatix knelt down in front of the bard's bare feet. He indicated the first patch of fabric, which he lay on the ground, and Cacofonix placed his foot in its center. The bard's eyes suddenly lit up with understanding, and he leaned forward to complete the task. Wrapping his foot within the fabric, he used the string Fulliautomatix handed him to bind it. He did it with the other patch of fabric, this time with his opposite foot. With beaming smiles, he and Fulliautomatix got back to their feet, the bard sporting a pair of new, home-crafted 'shoes'.

"We can do this!" Fulliautomatix hissed urgently, starting to hand out blankets to the other, now understanding Gauls, designating a few as cutters and giving them each a dagger. "Lycurgus can't keep us locked up in here any more." It was time to fight back.

* * *

 **Alright! Our dear friends the Gauls aren't so helpless anymore! It's about time, right? After the last chapter being so short, and so long in coming, I really worked hard to make this one more interesting, longer, and, hopefully, quicker in the posting. ;)**

 **Also, for those of you who might not already know, I have started an Asterix Forum here on Fanfiction. I saw there wasn't one, and so...well, I thought I'd give it a shot.**


	25. Running Out of Time

Two days Obelix had been traveling, and he hadn't enjoyed a moment of it. He had become sick of the cold and endless white. The bare trees that looked more like claws reaching up toward the grey sky; skeletal remains of what during the summer would have been lust and green forest. His sack-like shoes were stiff with ice, frozen in odd shapes. It made it look like he were stumbling around with great, brown potatoes for feet. The thought actually made him chuckle, before it lost its humor. Thankfully, it wasn't snowing, and hadn't done so for the last few days. That made the journey a little more bearable. The thing that really bothered Obelix was not the cold, or wind, or anything tangible. It was the loneliness. Having had a little taste of company back with Medkix and his daughter, Matricaria, Obelix realized just how much he missed the sound of other peoples' voices. He missed his talks with Asterix. He missed the sound of Cacofonix teaching the village children. Getafix's experiments, riddled with odd chants and exclamations when things went right, or, in some cases, when they went wrong. At this point, he'd even gladly listen to Fulliautomatix and Unhygienix's arguing.

Supplied with plenty of food and a map he could actually understand and follow, Obelix had bid Medkix and Matricaria farewell. The young girl had cried a good deal, though Obelix couldn't quite grasp why. Perhaps she liked having company. Living out near the sight of Alesia couldn't bring many visitors, Obelix imagined. He had felt bad, leaving in the hurry that he had, but he was very anxious to be on his way. Medkix had seemed to understand, and Obelix had promised again and again, in an effort to calm Matricaria, that he would return in the spring sometime to visit. That lifted the girl's spirits enough that Obelix had felt he could well and truly leave. And so, waving goodbye, with a sack of food over his shoulder and a map in his hand, he had left for Burdigala once again.

It was nice to know that the parchment he held in his hand was indeed accurate, and not some deception leading him astray. It gave more confidence to his step, and even made him feel oddly excited. He felt, despite the fact that he was one, more like a grown up, in a sense. Map reading had been the one thing, or among the things, Getafix had had a very hard time trying to teach the large him. It was a hard concept, to be able to look down at a sketching and understand that it represented the world around you. Obelix understood that all right, but he tended to always hold the map the wrong way, at least in his youth. Asterix, on the other hand, had been very good at it. Obelix had come to the decision long ago that he didn't need to learn to read the infuriating things, not when Asterix read them so well. Since they were always together, it made sense that it was a skill he would never find himself needing.

Now, of course, he saw his mistake.

But now, having been diligently shown more than once by both Medkix and his daughter, Obelix had a pretty good idea how to read this map, if no others. And it gave him a sense of accomplishment that swelled his Gaulish pride.

As he had planned, Obelix kept moving at a very fast pace. But, for the sake of his health and strength, stopped from time to time for a bite to eat. That way, when he ran, he didn't have to worry about getting overly hungry. It worked well. He would run for several miles, pumping every ounce of energy into the action, and then would break, refueling whatever energy he had lost. Medkix had provided plenty of food, since Obelix seemed perfectly capable of carrying it, even over such distances. It was mostly bread and a few dried vegetables, not the meat he would have preferred, but it served its purpose, and by the setting of the sun on the third day, he had traveled further than most people in Gaul do in a lifetime. But had also run out of food. That simply could not be helped, and, dropping the empty sack in the snow, he continued on.

Obelix made sure to stay clear of any more rivers or ponds. His experience breaking through the ice had been an unpleasant one. It had frightened him, and brought back to light something that Getafix had told the Gauls many times over the course of the years. That, while the Magic Potion made one strong, and even had some healing properties to it, it did not have the ability to make someone invincible. Even filled with Potion, if you fell and scraped your knee, you still bled. Even filled with Potion, if something bit you, or you twisted an ankle, it would still hurt. And, even filled with Potion, if a Roman ran you through with a spear, you would die. It was something that the Gauls didn't think of very often. They had no need to. For the most part, their enemies couldn't even get close to them, nor did they want to. In the history of Getafix's Potion, which was only a good twenty years or so, no one had ever died while under its power. Of course, no one had ever died. Period. Thankfully, the years of those living in the village were healthy and, in Geriatrix's case, unusually long. Sometimes, though Getafix had only muttered this thought to Asterix in secret, the druid wondered if, in some way, the Potion also prolonged life to some degree. That would certainly explain a few things about the older residents of the village.

But when Obelix had fallen through the ice, and even with all his strength and power, had not been able to save himself, it had shaken Getafix's words loose again in his mind. He might have been the first of the Potion Drinkers to die, even under its effects. And that had scared Obelix terribly. It still did.

While never truly _afraid_ of water, Obelix had always held a certain lack of trust around it. He swam, as anyone else who lived by the sea could, and even enjoyed it, but there were always instances when he felt he didn't want to go in, like when the water was especially dark or choppy. Maybe it was just common sense. After all, anyone could tell you that you shouldn't swim in bad weather, or in water too deep for too long. But Obelix always felt it went beyond that. His mother had always blamed it on the fact that he had fallen into the village creek when he was nothing more than an infant*. Luckily, others had been nearby to save him. The incident had been one in a pattern that seemed to make up Obelix's childhood. Seemed he was always falling into things, whether it be water, mud, or Magic Potion.

Whether that was the cause for his apprehensiveness to water, he couldn't truly say, but his fall through the ice had certainly enhanced it.

Medkix had told him how to avoid ponds, lakes, and rivers that might be too thin with ice to cross but appeared deceitfully safe. He had explained how, with the fresh fallen snow, the bigger bodies of water looked more like fields, with tree line all around it. And, as for the rivers, they were a little easier to spot, seeing as their current, though sluggish, still existed and tended to chip away at the illusion of land, revealing dark running water through the white snow. Obelix stayed away from both, sticking to the forest trees, just to be safe. That way he at least knew for sure that the land he was running on was exactly that; land.

Medkix had also told him that, because of the direction he was coming from, Obelix wouldn't be catching any sight of the sea. It was all over land, other than a few rivers, which Obelix skirted unless they were small enough to jump. He found bridges, or made one himself if the need arose, out of a tree or a few very large rocks. He tried to use the boulders rather than the trees, knowing that Dogmatix would have yowled in grief otherwise, had he been there.

As he rushed through the winter landscape, Obelix's mind was very focused, something that wasn't always necessarily the case for him. He was too easily distracted by the world around him to be a true thinker, like Asterix, but today seemed to be an exception. His main thoughts were to his task, the moving forward toward his goal no matter what stood in his way, be it tree, river, rock, or mountian. But his remaining thoughts were focused on the goal itself; his arriving in Burdigala. He couldn't even picture the place, having never been there, and, now that he was growing closer to it, it seemed uncomfortably abstract. Up until this point, it had been little more than a name. A word that represented some city far away. But now it was becoming more real, with each mile it became more and more of an actual, concrete thing. And, in a sense, so did what he planned to do there.

What would he be like without his strength? That was one of the things that seemed to nudge him hardest. Without the strength he had always had, what would he be like? Well, for one, he doubted he would be able to deliver menhirs anymore. That alone was cause for a bit of grief, since he had always reaped great pleasure from both shaping and delivery the enormous stones. Another thing he wouldn't be able to do would be to fight Romans at a moment's notice. He'd have to drink Magic Potion to do that, and that, in a way, was a brighter side to his decision. He had wanted, ever since he was little and had drunk a whole caldron full, to have more. Naturally, he had tried, on more than one occasion, to get Getafix to give him nothing more than a taste. And on a few occasions, _very few_ , Getafix had given him a drop*. Then there was the time he had snuck into the druid's hut and drunk two whole caldrons full, turning him to stone and then childhood. That had taught him a valuable lesson. But it still left him with the desire to have it again, someday. He just seemed to have a taste for it. And, without his natural strength, he would have to have it again.

But then, what was the point of getting rid of his strength if he was only going to replenish it? Maybe he'd just have to give it up for good. And, though that made Obelix feel just a little bit ill, he decided that was the way it would have to be. He wasn't even sure he _wanted_ to fight Romans anymore.

Like all things that are unknown, the prospect was a little frightening, both of being somewhere unfamiliar, and having something so much a part of him taken away. What did one have to do to take away power like his? This woman, Abbadon, must be very powerful to be able to do something that even Getafix could not do. He supposed it should have scared him a lot more than it did, but he was glad it didn't. If he became too scared, he might not be able to accomplish his goal. And so, with this circle of musings, Obelix pushed on.

His thinking seemed to make the time pass faster. Within what felt like a very short time, the sun had gone down and the stars had broken out across the clear sky. It was cold, crisp, but not unbearably, and the air held a hint of bitterness, promising that more snow was on the way*, even if there was no evidence to support it. A light breeze was licking over the treetops, causing them to weave and dodge. Obelix, reaching the crest of a small hill, was greeted by a sight that confused him at first. The stars, unusually bright and large, seemed to have fallen to earth, being below him all of a sudden, rather than above. He blinked blearily, the sight having frozen him in his tracks, before it slowly dawned on him what he was seeing.

It was the lamps of many lighted windows. The flickering glow of civilization, nestled in the white folds of winter. It seemed so peaceful and calm, with not a sound coming from the city in the valley below him.

The city, Obelix realized, that was none other than Burdigala.

It had to be. At first, all he did was stare at it. He took in that calm, observing the place below with all detail. He beheld the snaking river, crusted by ice and leading off to the sparkling sea, which he knew from his map to be there, despite the fact that it was beyond his sight. Even in the gathered darkness, he could make out the twisted streets and tall, proud buildings, so unlike his own home, it was distinctly foreign. It was not even akin to Rome, though the might it imposed might have resembled it a little. It was more angular, closer knit than the huge halls and round domes of Caesar's empire. And yet, it still held it in hints; in the slight curves on each corner, and in the shape of some of its walls.

Obelix could see all of this, as clear as if it were day, for even though the city was somewhat downhill from him, it was not far. The land beyond was very flat, white wasteland broken only by the greyness of bare trees. The wind blew freely here, whipping across the terrain to brush against Obelix's face, throwing his red pigtails back. Taking a deep breath, Obelix stepped forward, slowing way down to a simple, careful walk, as though he suddenly was very hesitant to continue.

Before he was even truly aware of it, he was among the buildings themselves, the wind suddenly prevented from hitting him. He admired the stone walls and cottage sides. Being a stone carver himself, he could appreciate and understand the work that had gone into building them. He ran his hand over the tan stone, making his way down a narrow street in a bit of a daze, torches tucked in the walls lending him light. It was almost as though he couldn't believe he was there. That he had actually gone and left the village. And though he pushed it down, he felt a harsh prick of dread at being there at all.

The streets were bare, no one in their right minds wanting to be out in the cold after sunset. Obelix was strangely eager, almost frantic, to find Abbadon that night. He longed for his own home and friends, rather than the strange surroundings and strangers. The sooner he found the woman druid, the sooner he could turn back and homeward. But with no one in the streets, he found he couldn't find anyone to ask directions from. He didn't know where a woman druid would live in a place so large and full. It was a little overwhelming. And so, after a time of aimless wandering, Obelix finally got up the nerve to knock on the nearest door.

His pounding was a little louder and harder than he intended, and he flinched when the door, after a moment or two, was flung open to reveal a well-dressed fellow of a more Egyptian-looking origin. The man did not look pleased, but scowled at Obelix with a haughty air that somehow made Obelix feel as small as Dogmatix.

"Um, uh, I was wondering-" Obelix stuttered under the man's glare. "I'm not from here, and I'm looking for directions…" He trailed off uncertainly, wishing with everything he was that he had chosen a different door to start his inquires.

The fellow continued to scowl, opening his mouth like a large, wet trap. "And what is it you are looking for?" he growled, his voice a lot higher than Obelix had been expecting. Either way, Obelix answered quickly, not wanting to be shut out before he had had his chance to ask.

"I'm looking for the house of Abaddon, the woman druid, who-"

" _Abaddon_!" The man paled considerably, his scowl being replaced by shock, and then extream anger. "Be gone! Go away! I know nothing of an Abaddon!" And with that, slammed his door shut so hard that a torch on the roadside beside it almost went out.

Obelix stared at the door that had been shut inches from his face, blankly accepting the man's rudeness. He gazed up at the house's single window, which was lit, until it all at once went out, giving the impression that no one was home at all. Obelix assumed maybe that the man had gone to bed, though it was still considerably early. Shrugging mentally, he went on to the next closest home and performed the same actions and question. This time it was a woman who answered. At his question she gave a cry, shutting the door with no other word. Obelix tried several more houses, and each time he was treated very much the same. He was either told to leave, or received no words at all, and a door slammed repeatedly in his face.

Finally, tiring, Obelix realized that his answer in this place, when asking for the woman druid, would always be the same. He didn't know why, but it made that little bit of dread in his heart grow just a little bit more. It was becoming an ache, larger and larger, and yet still he pushed it back. Deciding that it was getting too late to stop in on Abaddon anyway, Obelix settled on finding a place to stay the night, planning to continue his search the next morning. He found a house with its window still lit and knocked, glad to hear footsteps approach and the door open calmly.

An older woman, hair greyed by age, but with clear eyes that sparkled, gazed at him in kindness; the first he had been shown since arriving in Burdigala. She gave him a tender smile, like only the elderly can, and even stepped out of the door to speak with him. "Hello. Is there something I can do for you?" She looked him up and down, taking in his girth and height, as many people did, but kept right on smiling.

Obelix felt himself relax at her words, having become so accustomed to doors slamming inches from his nose. "I…I was wondering if you knew of a place I could spend the night. Is there an inn nearby?"

"There are," the woman replied, but then her eyes filled with concern. "But they are more than likely full. This time of the year, when travelers are unable to sleep out under the stars outside the city, the inns are packed with people. There will be no room there."

 _Just like Nemnetes_ , Obelix thought, rather bitterly.

"But you may stay here. My husband and I would be honored with a bit of company."

Obelix blinked, having not expected such an invitation; not after all the harshness he had received. His face filled with gratitude as he nodded. Digging a hand in his pocket, he withdrew the few coins Medkix had given him. He held them, small in his large, calloused hands. Then, with a smile, he held them out to her. "I'm afraid I don't have much, but I'm willing to pay you."

"Oh, no. I wouldn't dream of it."

Obelix shrugged. "For food then." Then he added, a little bit of pink finding its way to his face, "I tend to eat an awful lot. Believe me, you'll need this to buy more after I've gone."

The woman relented after a moment, and took the coins graciously, before leading him in. Obelix was introduced to her husband, a man equal in years to her own. He was just as kind, and welcomed the traveler without question. Obelix was set up with a warm bed and more food than he had had since leaving Medkix's cottage three days before. He too was glad for the company, spending a portion of the night talking by the fire with the man and his wife. They shared stories with him, many of which he enjoyed, and even shared a few of his own. He told them of his home, and was somewhat surprised that they had never heard of Getafix. Though, that was understandable, since the two said they rarely spoke with strangers, Obelix being the first in years. Their names, Obelix discovered, were Rhumitus and Cineraria, Romans; though Obelix held no ill will against them for that. The Gauls had learned long ago that not all Romans were bad, and civilians especially meant no harm. Obelix enjoyed his time with them, and when the time came for him to head off to bed, he fell asleep happier than he had felt in a long time.

Though he didn't ask them anything about Abaddon.

* * *

The sun was just rising when Asterix, Getafix, and Itylus, with Dogmatix at their heels, came in sight of Burdigala. The sight was one that brought both relief and anxiety, to all three travelers, even Itylus. The journey had been rough. Hurried and rough. And the winter air had gotten cooler by the sea, whipping wind across ice and endless water in ways that froze the moisture in the air on one's skin. Shivers, like waves of tickling ants crawling over the skin, had plagued them, and only Getafix's remedies and potions had held any possible sickness at bay.

They had come to the mouth of the Duranius and Garumna rivers, following the snaking water until they had come to the place the waters parted into the two. Following the Garumna further, they had finally come to Burdigala, just as the gentle rays of the morning's first light was reaching over the landscape, glinting off the river itself, and the ice that surounded it.

Asterix felt as though the sight were too much to bear. His eagerness to race into the city, as well as his anxiety to find Obelix, was the only thing keeping exhaustion away. All three men and their canine companion were worn and tired. Both by travel, and by worry. Asterix had insisted, even at Getafix's prompting against it, not to stop the night before. Not to rest, not to eat, not to sleep, not to do anything other than to press onward. For something deep inside of him, that little glow that he had come to recognize and trust almost with his very life, told him that if they did stop, they would be too late. That if they stopped, the trip would have been all for nothing, and Obelix would be beyond anyone's help. That was Asterix's fear, and it now fueled everything he did.

Naturally, Itylus had wanted to know how he knew. How could Asterix possibly know something with such certainty? How could he know that if they paused, for even a moment, that their mission would be lost? It was a question that the man had insisted upon, until finally, Asterix had told him. Asterix had told him everything; shakily, of Mastix and of all the Gauls had been through five months before. He had told Itylus of the spells and the magic, and the reason Obelix should have known better than to go off to see a woman like Abaddon. And then, he had even told Itylus of the one thing he had become so careful not to share with strangers that it had almost become a thorn in his side. And yet, Asterix had come to trust Itylus in their journey. He had come to be a friend to the young man, and believed that Itylus held him and Getafix in the same regard. And that was the only reason why Asterix had told him about the Soul Light. That he was a Solas Anam.

Itylus had been shocked, and confused, not truly understanding; which was fine. All he needed to know was that Asterix knew what he was talking about, and that if they didn't hurry, it would really and truly be too late. Too stunned and bewildered to argue any further, Itylus had simply followed.

And it was in this state that they arrived in Burdigala; tired, worn, worried, and, in Itylus's case, confused.

The minute Asterix's padded feet left snow to touch cobblestoned street, he was running, Getafix and Itylus giving a cry before they were racing after him. Getafix scooped up Dogmatix, doing his best not to slip on the patches of ice that pooled between the stones. He kept his eyes fixed on Asterix's back, wanting his friend in sight at all times. Memories had begun to fill Getafix, and they weren't ones he treasured. The panic Asterix held was spreading to the druid himself, and the feeling reminded him so closely of five months before it was almost enough to make him ill. It remended him of when Mastix's work in Asterix had almost been successful. Of how the blond Gaul had been slipping away, dying in their very arms. It reminded Getafix of the race by cart to the Carnutes, to find the cure before Aasterix really, and truly, was beyond saving. That was what memories Asterix's panic was rising now, and Getafix could feel himself being gripped tightly in it as well. It lent him speed, and he had no trouble keeping up with Asterix or Itylus.

Asterix skidded around a corner, dodging several early morning risers headed off to their various occupations. They cried out in surprise as the diminutive Gaul brushed against them, glaring after him as Asterix continued on with only a shout of apology as he ran. The city folk huffed, half turning with their noses in the air, only to be nearly bowled over by Getafix and Itylus.

"Beg pardon!" was all they got from the druid, who was moving at an alarming rate for one of his obvious age.

Asterix ducked and dodged as the streets became even busier, only stopping a moment every few streets to ask someone if they had seen a large Gaul with red braids. They would look at him in confusion opening their mouths to answer, but Asterix would already be gone. He could tell just by their reactions that they had seen nothing of Obelix. Obelix was not someone you could miss.

Forgetting to be careful, the blond Gaul slipped on a patch of ice, jolting his arm and scraping his knee beneath his red pants as he fell. He gasped at the sudden loss of balance, as well as the pain, but struggled back to his feet again almost instantly. He was at a crossroads now, and he paused, chest heaving and broken arm aching, turning his head frantically from side to side as he tried to let some of his usual logic back into his thinking. It wasn't easy, and his mind refused to focus on anything other than his panic. Getafix and Itylus came up behind him, both slightly out of breath, though it was Getafix who was suffering the most. The druid gulped air, setting Dogmatix down and leaning his weight on his knees as he struggled to calm his racing breath and heart.

"A-Asterix…We need to…to ask for Abbo-Abaddon…" Asterix swung around to look at him, and Getafix cringed at the fear he saw in the young Gaul's face.

"Getafix! We have to find Obelix! Now!" Asterix's intuition was screaming at him, pumping a growing horror that he no longer even tried to fight. Obelix and him were so close, he could almost feel their bond of friendship sometimes. And Asterix was beginning to wonder, as Obelix had secretly begun to five months before, if he would truly be able to survive without his friend. The fear burned in him, more so than Mastix's spell had. _We're running out of time! We're running out of time!_

Getafix nodded, straightening out tiredly as he lay a hand on Asterix shoulder. "If we…find Abaddon…we'll find Obelix…" Talking wasn't helping to calm his breathing, but at this point, talking was more important. Asterix was panicked. More than panicked; he was desperate. Asterix was never like that, unless he had good reason. Asterix didn't scare easily, and the only thing that Getafix had ever seen truly frighten him, was the possibility of losing someone he cared for. And Obelix most certainly counted as that. But this wild state that Asterix had worked himself into wouldn't help things. "Asterix we-"

But Asterix's eyes had already widened in understanding. If they could get to Abaddon before Obelix, they would know for sure whether they were too late or not, and they could stop him in time. Slipping from Getafix's hold with a stumble of fatigue, Asterix took off again, this time his eyes searching for someone, anyone, who he could ask the whereabouts of the witch called Abaddon. It wasn't hard to do, and Asterix latched onto the next available individual he came across.

"Where can I find Abaddon?!" he asked desperately, not even realizing he was gripping the front of the man's shirt in his good fist. He stared in the fellow's eyes, his panic fully visible, and he wasn't even trying to hide it. The man's eyes widened, out of fear, for two reasons. One being that he was practically being strangled by a wild-eyed Gaul, and the second because of the Gaul's request.

"Are you insane?!" he cried, trying to pull away but finding the small man unnaturally strong, even though Asterix had not had any Potion. "That woman is trouble! No one looks for her when in their right mind!"

Asterix felt another wave of dread rush through him. _We're running out of time!_ "Then maybe I'm not in my right mind!" he shouted, "But I still want to know! I _have_ to know! Where can I find her!" Getafix and Itylus had caught up again, and Asterix could feel the druid trying to calm him down and get him to step away from the frightened man in his grip. Asterix would never hurt the fellow, but he wasn't exactly in control of himself at the moment either. Realizing he was getting a little bit too excited, Asterix took a deep breath and released his hold, stepping back as Getafix's hands guided him, struggling to reign in his fears, though it didn't quite spread to his voice. "Please, we have to know where to find her!"

The man, regaining his haughty manner, unwrinkled his tunic. "Fine. Fine! It's your life anyway, spend it as you like!" He pointed down the street to their left with a fast, irritated gesture. "She lives several streets down that way, with a great big sign above the door. The street's always dark there, no matter the time of day. Now leave me alone!" The man ran off, obviously shaken, on to the nearest inn where he might get a drink. After a scare like he had just had, he would probably skip his day of work at the leather shop too and go home to settle his nerves.

Asterix took off again, his control of his fear slowly fading, with each step he took. For some reason, he felt that they were on the very brink of being too late. The very brink. He had promised Obelix. He had promised that if ever he had to put his life in danger again, he and Obelix would do it together. But now Obelix's life was in danger, and Asterix was frantic to find him. A promise like his worked two ways. And he could not afford to not be there when Obelix needed him most.

Getafix and Itylus exchanged worried glances, running after him again, marveling secretly at how Asterix could be doing so much rushing about without losing his breath.

* * *

Obelix stood, blinking up at the large, old, wooden sign above the doorway. He wondered how so many people had refused to tell him any directions, when it was so obvious as to where Abaddon lived. He had had to ask so many people, really only coming upon the sign by accident. It was on a street that was darkly shaded, no matter the time of day; wet and musky, with water dribbling down the streets narrow walls, from snow melting off the roofs. He cocked his head as he read the sign, not knowing in the least what it said. It appeared Druidic, though he couldn't be sure. He had a hard enough time reading Gaulish.

Taking a deep breath, Obelix did what he had come to do. Reaching up with a large, slightly shaking fist, he gave three hard knocks. Then waited.

* * *

 **Uh oh. Here we go. Things are really starting to come to a head now. I was kind of surprised when I realized how much I've written for this story. I keep a piece of paper, you see, for every story I write. On it, typed or in pencil, is every outline and point for the story that I plan to write. And, according to my little piece of paper, I'm almost done. But don't worry, there's still a lot to be covered in these remaining chapters!**

 ***This is from one of the short stories in my collection (called THE SMALL ONES) of stories of the Gauls when they were little.**

 ***In the movie "The Mansion of the Gods" Obelix was given just a little.**

 ***I have always said that I can smell snow when it is coming. Some people agree, and know exactly what I'm talking about, while others just cock their head and give me a pitying glance, like my mental health has gone. Either way, it always snows afterwards. Snow has a bitter smell, not unpleasant, but distinct.**

 **I don't know if I ever mentioned, but Burdigala is present day Bordeaux, a town in South-West France.**


	26. Right and Wrong

Still.

That was probably the best way to describe the inside of the blacksmith's shop at the moment. Still and quiet. No one moved, or made a sound, as the room was enveloped in a deep silence and calm. Though not true calm. For everyone's hearts were beating hard, anxiety of a different kind than before becoming almost overwhelming. This was an anxiety of anticipation. An anxiety of excitement, mixed with dread. But first would be the stillness. For now.

The children were sleeping peacefully by the warmth of the dwindling fire. Agafya's gifts, though much appreciated, were running low, and very soon the Gauls would be right back where they had been before she had come; cold and hungry. While it was only early morning, the adults were all awake. Wide awake and watchful. Watching, in silence as they sat in the corner, as their own Fulliautomatix paced back and forth in the limited space. They were rather concerned for him, and his obvious distress only made it worse. It had become a habit for him, the pacing, and the motion helped him stretch his legs. It also kept his pressing worry and feelings of entrapment at bay. He was like a caged tiger, walking back and forth, eyes not truly seeing anything other than that which was in his own mind. Face pale and focused, he had been doing so since the night before, just shortly after discovering the hidden weapons in the woodwork. His arm, the one that had gone through the wall, had been cleaned and bandaged by his wife, who had worried and fussed over the scratches he had gained from the splintered wood. He had hissed at the contact a good deal, the water over the scratches having stung, but other than that he had remained silent. His enthusiasm hadn't died down, but his confidence certainly had.

It was after his arm had been wrapped that he had started pacing. At first, he had done so while talking, helping the other council members come up with a plan. And it hadn't been a bad one at that, especially for a man who knew nothing of strategy. But as the night had gone on, he had slowly withdrawn into himself, until finally had had stopped talking at all. The children had fallen asleep to the sound of his feet walking back and forth over the pitted, dirt floor. And he had not stopped, not for a moment, since then. It was during this time that his certainty had plummeted. His mind was flooded with all the possible outcomes of, what would be, a very daring escape. His mind displayed to him everything that might possibly go wrong, in all detail, robbing him of the courage he had held only a short time before. It fell over him like a dark cloud. A dark cloud that the other Gauls could sense and almost see.

The other adults were too afraid to interrupt him; not because they feared his temper, for it had never bothered them before, but because they could tell he needed it. He needed something to ease his anxiety; something to ease the tension that was so very visible in every part of him. He needed to pace. By the stiff way he walked, and turned, and held himself they could see it. His very stance spoke of tension that he was struggling to hold down and out of sight, without much success.

Why he was suddenly so uptight, even Fulliautomatix wasn't completely sure. Nothing had changed. They were still prisoners, trapped in his own shop with the village overrun with crazy Greeks, led by Lycurgus, the craziest of them all. So what was it that made him so uneasy? Part of it was the decision he had made. The decision to try and escape. Vitalstitistix had agreed with the idea; in fact, they all had, every single one. The questions remaining now was how and when. But that didn't mean his worrying hadn't diminished. Trying to escape could be the best thing right now, or it could be the worst. What if something went wrong? What if someone got hurt? Or worse. And that was something that was weighing on his conscience even now, and nothing had even happened yet. For all he knew, their attempt could go off without a problem. But there was just too much uncertainty. And Fulliautomatix had never liked uncertainty. That was why he liked being a blacksmith. It was hard work, true, but it was steady, and regular; predictable. It was pounding a blade here, fashioning a shield there. There were no unexpected crisis to deal with, and Fulliautomatix had always relied on that. Maybe a little more than he had thought. And now, here he was gearing himself up to lead the villagers off into a plan that he alone would be responsible for. And he realized quite quickly that it was one thing to come _up_ with a plan, and a very different thing entirely to carry it out.

"He's really taken on a lot since those Greeks arrived," Bacteria whispered to Mrs. Fulliautomatix, though, at the same time, she was really addressing all the others sitting beside her. Most of the Gauls had settled down on one side of the room, giving Fulliautomatix as much space as they could. It wasn't an easy thing to do, but, to them, they thought it best. Hearing Bacteria's observation, the villagers nodded in agreement. They were all rather surprised, having never really known the blacksmith had the character to burden something so...difficult. He had always been one to give opinions and make himself heard, but never really one to carry them out. It was a fault that many of them had brought to his attention over the years, almost mockingly. A fond sort of mocking, the kind between very close friends. But now, here Fulliautomatix was, being something and doing something they never would have expected him to take on. And _that_ made them rather proud of him. _Very_ proud. But also worried.

No one more so than Mrs. Fulliautomatix. The little woman sat in between Bacteria and Impedimenta, watching as her husband paced, her face the very picture of concern. She had never seen him so worked up. Even when her mother had stopped by for a visit all those many years ago, she had never seen him so agitated. "He's...He's afraid." She said it so softly, it was even quieter than a whisper, but the Gauls closest to her heard her, turning to her uneasily. Maybe she shouldn't have said anything. After all, as of the moment, her husband was the one they were all looking up to. Maybe she shouldn't have said he was afraid. But she knew he was. She could see it in his eyes, which shone slightly, catching the light of the low fire every time he paced toward it. He hadn't heard her. He probably hadn't heard anything anyone had said since the night before. He was so focused. So scared.

But it was alright to be scared. No one in all the world who had ever done anything brave or worthwhile could say they hadn't been scared when they had done it. It was _part_ of being brave. It was _part_ of taking a stand against any threat, any fear, or any danger. But Fulliautomatix didn't know that. He was new to all of this, and his belief was that in order to be brave, one could not afford to be scared. He was trying to beat it down. He was trying to ignore it and shove it from him like some poisonous serpent. And his wife knew that. She could see it. But she was proud of him too. She always had been, and now more than ever.

"I wish I could be of more help," Vitalstitistix muttered quietly in frustration, from beside Impedimenta's other side. His voice was still tight from pain, and he was still very weak, but he was sitting up just fine, and had even eaten a bit of their rations. He had walked about a little, insisting that it was his arm that had been hurt, not his legs. But that had tired him out soon enough, and Impedimenta had settled him back down, this time near the others. The color had returned to him a little, and the dullness had left his gaze. "I don't know _what_ I could do, but I _wish_ I could do it. Take some of the burden for him." He frowned sadly, watching as the blacksmith took another turn, still going back and forth. "It's making him suffer." Lowering his eyes, he closed them, wincing as a pain traveled up his arm. "...As if there hasn't been enough of that."

Geriatrix, sitting beside his wife, had remained quiet for most of the duration of their capture, which was unusual. Usually he was the first to speak out against their enemies, waving his t-shaped cane in circles above his head and calling out names and insults. But he had done none of that; not since Lycurgus throwing him out in the snow. That had disturbed him greatly, and not only for himself, but for Cacofonix, and Unhygienix's little boy. He had been afraid for them. Very afraid. Then he had watched and observed, with just as much emotion and passion as the others, but since being thrown out into the snow and hauled back in, he had not spoken much. Other than a few whispers of encouragement to those who needed it most, and his few sentences during their Council meeting. Now, looking to his left and right at the frightened, pale faces around him, he frowned, seeming equally distressed. His eyes settled back front, fixing on Fulliautomatix with a glint of something unreadable, before he began to try and get to his feet.

"Geriatrix? Dear, what are you doing?" Mrs. Geriatrix asked, a little sharply, catching everyone else's attention, except Fulliautomatix, who kept right on pacing.

Geriatrix didn't stop, even as his wife tried to pull him gently back to his place beside her. His eyes were fixed determinedly on the blacksmith, and his only reply to his wife's question was a hurried, but soft, "I want to get up." It was easier said than done, again because he no longer had his cane, and it was a visible effort without it. As he finally gained his feet, several hands reached out to steady him, but he lightly brushed them off, eyes still fixed ahead. He balanced, after a moment of teetering, and then slowly, and carefully made his way forward. Mrs. Geriatrix stood, uncertain as to whether to follow or not. She didn't want him to fall, but then she also felt that Geriatrix didn't want help. Not at the moment. And for once, she decided that maybe she should respect that wish. And so she stood watching, like all the others, as Geriatrix moved carefully toward their pacing friend.

The village elder made his way across the shop, stepping, a little shakily, right into Fulliautomatix's line of movement. The blacksmith didn't realize his presence at first, until he turned and almost ran into the far shorter and older man. Fulliautomatix blinked in surprise, stumbling back a step, his seemingly ceaseless rhythm finally broken. He came to himself, taking in how quiet everything had become, vaguely wondering how much time had passed. But Geriatrix didn't give him time to be the first to speak.

"Responsibility isn't as easy a concept as it first seems, is it?"

The question hung in the silence heavily for a moment, before Fulliautomatix's tense shoulders slumped, wilting. "No. No, it's not." He suddenly realized how tired he was. Worry was like the little, black leeches his father had always used to warn him about in the forest creeks. If they latched on, they drained, taking whatever life they could. Worry had the power to suck the very energy from someone, and, worst of all, it was a parasite that couldn't be simply pulled off. Worry tended to stick; gnawing and deep. Fulliautomatix was beginning to forget what life had been like without it. "I...I feel like there's two sides to me, whenever I do anything..." He knew that sounded odd, but he knew of no other way to describe it. And he couldn't keep it all to himself anymore. "Half of me knows what I have to do. That we need to leave; take the risk...but then the other half of me keeps...dragging its feet. It's...It's afraid..."

Geriatrix smiled, though not in a scornful or smug way, like he might have for teasing. It was almost the smile of a parent, proud of a child who has just told the truth, even though it had been hard. "It's afraid," he nodded simply, watching the younger Gaul very carefully.

Fulliautomatix flitted his eyes toward the others in the corner, seeing that they were listening. He turned back to Geriatrix with a frown, lowering his voice so only the elder could hear. At least, he hoped that was the case. "Listen. I'm not made for this type of...stuff. I'm _going_ to make a mistake; I just know it...Every step I take is...is a place where I could go wrong." Then forcefully, almost defensively, he added, "Of course I'm scared." He rubbed his bandaged arm with his unwrapped hand subconsciously. "I'm more scared than I've ever been in my life. I feel like everything's against me." He sighed, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, another habit he was forming.

"You're having second thoughts," Geriatrix observed, almost as though it were all perfectly normal.

"What was I thinking," Fulliautomatix winced, a shudder running all through him. It as though he hadn't heard Geriatrix, his mind latching on to only one thought. "I'm going to make a mistake...I-i can't be responsible for that. I just can't. It's all just too dangerous."

Geriatrix's frown deepened, some of his old fire returning as his voice rose slightly, both in pitch and volume. "Dangerous?!" he cried indignantly. " _Dangerous?_ I thought I knew you better than that Fulliautomatix! What if Vercingetorix, the only man to ever unite the tribes of Gaul, had not stood up to Caesar in Alesia? Because it was ' _too dangerous_ '? Eh? Eh?" He didn't wait for Fulliautomatix to answer. "Then we _all_ would have been conquered long ago! _All_ of us."

"But not everyone made it," the blacksmith interjected weakly. this wasn't helping him any. he knew the tales of the Battle of Alesia. The many deaths; the casualties. He couldn't even imagine what the burden must have been like. And then, even Vercingetorix hadn't been able to take it. He had given in to Caesar. He had thrown down his shield at Caesar's feet. How could he, Fulliautomatix, son of Semiautomatix, a simple blacksmith, be anything more than what he was? He wasn't a warrior. He wasn't some great leader like Vercingetorix. He was nothing. How could he possibly do anything right, where even the greatest men had gone so wrong? "Not everyone made it."

"Exactly!" Geriatrix shouted, lowering his voice when some of the sleeping children by the fire turned over with little moans. "Exactly. But _we_ did. We are Gaul's last remaining natives not under Caesar's reign. You think that's easy? You think that that hasn't been hard? We are still here, Fulliautomatix! Still here. But without that _fight_ , that _drive_ , that Gualish determination and pride, there wouldn't be even that. It'd be over. Over." He paused. "And what of Asterix and Getafix?"

"What of them?" Fulliautomatix felt as though he were being scolded. His shoulders had slumped, and he almost looked like he had as a child, whenever he had gotten in trouble for fighting with the other children.

"When Mastix attacked, did they give up because it was _too_ _dangerous_? Did any of us?"

Fulliautomatix wanted to say that Asterix had. When the burden had grown too great, Asterix had given himself over to the evil druid. But he knew that wasn't what Geriatrix was talking about. Even in that surrender, Asterix had still been fighting for them, through the sacrifice of himself. And he had done that, despite the danger that had come with it. Suddenly, Geriatrix's words were making a little more sense. "No," he answered, still weakly. "But, Old Timer, I-"

"But nothing!" Geriatrix caught Fulliautomatix's gaze and held it fiercely, but behind it shone true and honest concern. The blacksmith slowly realized the old man was actually trying to help him. Give him something he had most certainly lost. His confidence. Geriatrix's voice softened. "I've known you, Fulliautomatix, since you were nothing but a little boy, lisping like anything and wielding that silly little, wooden mallet of yours wherever you went. I watched you grow up, like all the others. Saw the qualities you had, and the ones you didn't. You were reckless. Stubborn. Energetic. And hot-headed."

"Thanks." Fulliautomatix had cringed with each description, eyes lowered, as though it were a whip lashing out across his back rather than the words of a friend. But Geriatrix wasn't finished. The eldest Gaul gave him a small smile.

"Which is _exactly_ what we need right now."

Fulliautomatix met his gaze, looking up, slightly startled.

" _Be_ reckless," Geriatrix challenged. " _Take_ the risk, it's our only chance. _Be_ stubborn; don't let Lycurgus win. Put _every_ last ounce of energy into doing what you believe is right, and _put_ that hot-headedness to good use." His smile grew. "I, for one, am willing to follow. And I believe..." he swept a hand behind him, "...they are too."

Fulliautomatix raised his eyes, focusing back on the other Gauls. They were all smiling now. Their eyes held a confidence he felt he lacked, and a trust he certainly didn't have in himself. There was silent encouragement, a radiating feeling of support, and he could feel it chasing away the fear and worry, like sunlight driving out a heavy fog. For some reason, it struck him hard, and he had to take a deep breath to keep his emotions under his control, for once emotions not of temper, but of gratitude. He looked down at Geriatrix again, a mix of relief in his eyes. And he didn't have to say anything. It was obvious to all that the suffering, that mental suffering, had ended.

Geriatrix grinned back at him. "Just lead the way."

There was a long pause, as the blacksmith seemed to take in all that had been said. And everything that hadn't. Then, with the smallest of nods, he consented. "Alright." A smile, gentle and slightly teasing appeared, reaching his eyes. "Alright, you old relic...Let's give it our best." The Gauls all sighed in relief, standing to their feet as Fulliautomatix grabbed the stack of weapons and started handing the blades out to the men. "Wake the children. We're leaving. Now." Before he could start doubting himself again.

* * *

In every person, there exists a spark of understanding. A spark of _knowing_ that dictates what is truly right and wrong. Though some oppress it, say that it isn't so, it still exists, and no manner of lie or untruth can change it. People argue. They say that right and wrong is a matter of opinion. That you can make your _own_ right and wrong, and live by it; change it to your will. And they do. They try. And they fail. For even if they truly believe what they do is merited, bad is still bad, and good is still good. It is like taking a bit of blue cloth, and saying that it is green. No matter how often you say it, or even if you believe it with all your might, that cloth is still blue. Not green. Not red. Blue. And it will always be blue. And nothing will change it. The same can be said for 'right and wrong'. You can do something that you say over and over is right, you can even believe it with all your might that it is right. But it is still wrong. Horribly, twistedly wrong.

And Lycurgus, deep down within, in the darkest depth of his understanding, knew that what he was doing was wrong. He had smothered the truth; kicked and bruised it into submission, so that even he was convinced it didn't exist. But it couldn't be smothered out completely. All he wanted for his people was peace. Freedom from their oppressors, even if it meant taking away the freedom of others. Was that really so wrong? Was it really such a sin to want only the best for his people? No. No, even his inner, smothered sense of right and wrong knew the answer to that. That was no sin.

Then why did he feel as though he were so very deeply in the wrong?

In the Chieftain's hut, Lycurgus paced. Unknowingly matching one of his own prisoner's movements, he marched back and forth, hands behind his back and eyes fixed on the floor, trying not to look at the shields mounted on the wall. Those cursed shields! How he hated them! They seemed to watch his every move, frowning in some inanimate manner. They loomed over him like a hungry vulture, and yet he had no idea why. They were harmless. Metal pounded into sheets of security and protection. They were nothing but old relics. Nothing important, and Lycurgus was doing his very best to convince himself that that was the case. His face was fixed in a permanent scowl, as sour as a grape that hasn't quite ripened. His steps were fast, and determined, despite the fact that he wasn't headed anywhere. He was angry. He was upset. But most of all, he was confused. He had fought it off, mercilessly flattened it beneath a floor of hard, cold will, but still it had lingered. That feeling that what he was doing was wrong, and now, he could no longer deny it even to himself. He was confused. And he wasn't even sure why.

But, what he _did_ _know_ , was why he was angry.

"My Lord?" Agafya stepped uneasily into the audience chamber, feeling the pure heaviness that dwelled within it. It was stifling, the very mood an almost palpable presence. Her face pale and hands held tightly in front of her, in an effort to keep them from shaking, she slowly came forward, as though coming before an executioner. "You called for me to come before you?" She knew full well that he had, and it scared her almost to death. She was scared, and she had every right to be. She flinched, both mentally and physically, as her husband answered her, having paused in his pacing; not looking at her, but standing with his back toward her.

"I know what you did for the Gauls."

The words were cold, like the icy wind that blew against the cottage from the outside. It dripped with disgust, and anger. Betrayal. It almost stopped Agafya's heart from beating. A wave of dread swept over her, and she suddenly found she couldn't swallow, as her throat had all at once gone very dry. But something, the smallest of all flickers of something...something important, was coaxed to life at his words. Something she thought she would never feel. Something she had seen in the Gauls, but never dreamed to have herself. Agafya found she had...courage.

"Yes, Lycurgus," she admitted, her voice surprising even her with its steadiness. "I did help them."

Lycurgus spun around to face her, closing the distance between them in six, threatening strides. His eyes flashed a deep rage, as though he were avenging some great hurt. The death of something important, which was only fed by the unusual lack of fear in Agafya's eyes. It had been there a moment ago, though he didn't know that, but now it was gone. Choked out by something far stronger. "Why did you disobey me?! I distinctly told you to stay away from them! Do you not listen?! Do you try my patience so foolishly?! Why did you disobey?!" He stepped toward her another step, and Agafya could not help the single step back she took.

Her courage faltered a moment. "I...I don't know..." But then it returned full force. "Because it was right."

Right. Right. The word echoed in his head like a painful blow. Those few words seemed to strike Lycurgus like a slap to the face. His hair almost physically bristled, like hackles rising on a wolf's hide. If he had had long ears, they would have moved flat against his skull, and his teeth would have been bared. The Greek stepped closer, pressing toward his wife with powerful anger, an anger that he usually only held for his enemies, and then only in controlled reserve. "And is it _right_ to go against your husband's wishes?!" He watched her flinch. "IS IT?!"

While her body may have faltered, the fire in her eyes did not. She was filled with more courage than she had ever felt before. The courage she had learned from their prisoners. From the Gauls who risked their lives and their hope to spill the Magic Potion. To beg for the lives of their friends, even when mercy seemed so far. From a man who was willing to step between his wife and a blade that pierced him. Hurt him. This was _true_ courage. This was _true_ strength, and it empowered Agafya. And yet, it did not fill her with hate. Not for her husband, and not for her people. If anything, it made her love for them stronger. She understood now, as maybe she always had, that what they were doing was _wrong_. But rather than condemn those she loved because of it, she wished only to save them. And that was why she did now something she had never done. Letting her passion run high; her passion for life, and truth, and faith in things that had long since faded, Agafya stared right into Lycurgus's eyes.

"You are not my husband!" she shrilled, voice high, but controlled. "My husband would not imprison innocent people! People who had opened up their homes and trust to him! My husband would not through the elderly, the sick, and the defenseless out into the snow to keep control by fear! You are a stranger to me! You are a monster!" She gasped slightly when his hand struck forward, grabbing her wrist in a relentless twist. Tears sprang to her eyes, even as he hissed at her to hold her tongue; but still she spoke. "Where is the Lycurgus I fell in love with?! The one who wouldn't hurt a fly, let alone another human being!"

Lycurgus's teeth ground in frustration, his hold almost crushing. "He is _dead_ ," he growled. "He died in the Arenas of Rome."

"I don't believe that!" Agafya cried, not even trying to struggle away. This contact was as intimate as the two had been in years. She missed the days of his love and kindness, the way he had walked with her back in Greece, in the hills and forests, telling her of the future he wanted. The future he had asked her to share. The future that had been torn and left a bloody mess of a nightmare. A nightmare she now wished to wake from, and drag him out of as well. "I don't believe that in the least! I know there is good inside of you, Lycurgus! I still love you! What you have done is wrong, and you know it! You feel it; you _must_ feel it!"

"SILENCE!"

With a sweeping motion, Lycurgus's strong hand rose above his head, his eyes burning with fierce anger. The room suddenly seemed to freeze in a searing heat; but also a tearing cold. As though all the world had stopped beating, like a heart that is dying, struggling to its last and failing. Agafya's eyes widened, either with terror or shock, no one would have been ever able to tell. They were interchangeable. She stared at the raised hand for a slit second, as it rose, before her fearful eyes latched onto Lycurgus's own, staring deep; so very deep. She was trapped, held tight, with no way to escape the coming blow. It was like the hieroglyphics of some ancient world, still and static in time, forever preserved. A scar that scraped across existence in that one, solitary moment, cutting deeply and wounding.

But he couldn't do it.

The open hand quivered, suspended in the air as though some force held it there. His eyes stared deeply into hers, hypnotized. He saw the fear. He saw the courage. How was it that one could show both in a single expression? They didn't belong there. Not on her face. He saw the righteous determination in the way her jaw was clenched, by the way she no longer flinched. He saw it all, but most of all, he saw the love. The love he had all but forgotten. The love that he had seen in the Gaulish chief when he had stepped in between Achates' blade and the Gaulish wife. The love he had given up for loss.

All because he was so focused on what he had believed was right. What he had believed was more important than anything.

But he was wrong.

Wrong.

Wrong.

It struck him hard, like a dagger to his heart, causing him to gasp, releasing Agafya and stumbling back. He turned away from her, breathing haggardly, and hands curled to his chest, shaking. What had he almost done? _What had he already done?_ He had almost struck the woman he had asked, all those years ago, to be his wife. His _wife_! Had he really become so feverishly obsessed with his so-called peace that he had forgotten everything else? Everything that had ever meant anything at all? That, even now, he was realizing still mattered? He gripped his head in his hands, aware, despite his sudden suffering, that the Gaulish shields still hung over him, on the wall. Watching.

For a moment, the only sound in the hut was his gasping breath, but then, softly, filled with care, Agafya spoke at his back. "It's not too late, Lycurgus...Sentiment is not a _weakness..._ it only _strengthens_. I have watched. I have _seen_ it. I know not what powers their potion would give them, but I know this; that it would be nothing compared to the strength that they gather from each other." Of this she meant the Gauls, and she meant every word of it. She reached out carefully, brushing a few light fingers against the skin of his elbow. She felt him shudder slightly. "It's not too late..." she pressed, voice pleading.

Lycurgus felt as though he were being torn apart from the inside. No. No, he would not give in! Not to such weakness. He had not been torn from his home, watched his very life uprooted and ruined, dragged to slavery with no hope of escape, for nothing. Sentiment, friendships, loyalties, that was what had torn him apart. Gladiators, pitted one against another, swords clashing like the chime of steel on an anvil, flashed in his mind. Some had been his friends. Some had been his family. They had been forced to fight. Forced to kill or be killed. Sentiment was weakness. Sentiment was the hold an enemy could always grab and twist with ferocity. Dig in like a knife and force through, tearing out your heart as they did so. Love was dangerous. Love was blinding. Friendship was fleeting, and a terrible burden.

A guilt.

A waste.

A danger.

A pain.

A deep throbbing pain that nearly robbed him of his own sanity. One that had ripped the very last ounce of hope from him as his captors laughed, cheering in the stands as he collapsed; without a prayer. Without a life to call his own. Those murderers! They had hurt for their own pleasure. Hurt for their own plans and agendas. Hurt for-

A sickening feeling washed over Lycurgus. His mind filled with the sound of banging fists against a wooden door. Fists that shook with cold and pain...at his own hand. Suffering _he_ had caused. He heard the sound of fear, Gaulish voices shouting for mercy. He heard Vitalstitistix's cry of pain as the blade came down upon his arm. He heard the coughs, the whimpers, the moans...all because of him. Fulliautomatix's words returned to him, filling his mind with sharp pain and sorrow.

 _"At whose expense? Who will you hurt in the process? Us? The Romans? Your own people? You talk of the cruelty and senseless suffering your captors put you through. And now that you are here, you are performing the same acts of cruelty and senseless harm on my people. You're becoming the very thing you came here to escape. You came to escape violence, and hate, and injustice, but you've brought it right along with you! You are the very monster you've been fighting. You have become your own worst enemy!"*_

Followed by the desperate words of Vitalstitistix.

 _"I don't need to to see the situation more clearly! I can give you my answer here and now! I will not order anyone to join you! Not Fulliautomatix, not anyone! You do not belong here; in our hut, in our village, or in our homeland! And we will fight you with every last breath we have!"*_

With every last breath we have.

Those were the words of a man who was struggling with the pains of sentiment. The pains of care, and love, and...courage. Someone whose hope had not yet been broken...but was so very close. And it was him, Lycurgus, who had almost done it.

"By _Eleos*_...What have I done?..." Lycurgus fell to his knees, head held tight in his own hands. The full severity of his actions suddenly converged upon him. How had he not realized before? How had he managed to go against the very thing he wanted, peace, to become the very thing he feared and hated? But he had known. He had known that it was wrong, but like so many people in this world, he had buried it deep. Smothered it hard, choking it out, or at least trying to. For nothing in any world can truly defeat what is truly right.

A hand, careful and gentle, lay upon his shoulder, and his hand snaked up his own chest to hold it, shaking. He raised his agonized gaze, lifting it up, almost in pleading. Begging. Standing there, still and trusting as always, was Agafya. Despite all the things he had said and done, she still lingered, eyes soft and caring, like a mother with her child; bathed in understanding. She was the only one who had never given up on him, when all else had. Including himself. Agafya saw in his eyes a slight spark, a glow that she had not seen in years. One that she recognized. Truly recognized.

"Lycurgus!" Falling to her knees, she wraps her arms around him, hugging tight. And after a moment, a long, painful moment, he suddenly lurched forward, returning it. They were no longer what they had become, a frightened woman and a dictatorial leader. They were simply Lycurgus and Agafya. Husband and wife. As they were meant to be. Always meant to be. Maybe, it hadn't ever really changed, but had just been clouded. Like a sun lost in a heavy, dark fog. Tears streamed down Agafya's face, drinking in the embrace, breathing it in as though it were the only thing she had ever lived for. Her voice was rough with emotion, but she rubbed Lycurgus's back, feeling his own shoulders shaking. "…Lycurgus. It's not to late. We can make this right. _Together_."

Lycurgus buried his chin in her shoulder. If only it could be that easy. His men, he had led them to do the things they had. Would they understand? Probably not. It filled him with a new emotion, one he had not felt in years. True, unbridled anxiety. Achates, especially, was a threat. But Agafya was right. This _had_ to stop. The dark, cruel cloud that had resided within him for so long, dissipated. Dissolved like salt in water, leaving him blinking mentally in the clarity. The guilt was immense, but he would make it up. He had to. He'd never forgive himself otherwise. His eyes rose to gaze at the shields hanging on the wall. They had been a burning coal in his side, ever since he had first taken over the village, and now he understood why. Chief Vitalstitistix had said that with each new chieftain, came a new shield. It was a show of inherent strength. A strength that Lycurgus had refused to believe in…until now. He had dismissed it as foolishness, and yet it had dug at him, crushing and bending him to stare at it. It had plagued him without mercy, but now...now that he had given himself over and opened up the part of himself he had thought was dead, they almost brought comfort. A familiar presence, no longer an enemy.

Lycurgus leaned back, raising Agafya's eyes with a gentle finger under her chin. She smiled, her eyes filled with tears of care and love. But the pain he had caused, for all these years, were still there. He was filled with shame. "Agafya…I'm...I'm so sorry." He lowered his eyes to the floor. "With all I have done…most woman would have left long ago..."

It was his wife's turn to raise his eyes with a gentle hand. She stared into his very soul, one she had feared he had lost. "You needn't apologize to me. I stayed with you, because I love you. There was no other choice for me." Her face fell a little, the sparkle in her eyes flickering out. "But there are those who _do_ deserve our apologies."

Lycurgus flinched, but agreed. He took his wife's hands, and together they stood to their feet. They stood like that a moment longer, smiling gently. He needed to promise. Show he had truly changed. "I'll make this right."

She believed him. "I know you will."

"MY LORD!"

The shout startled the couple, and they turned in surprise as one of the younger Greeks came barreling into the hut, chest heaving powerfully while his deep words gave a quick report. "My lord, the prisoners are escaping!"

"W-What?!" _Bad. Bad, bad, bad_. Sending Agafya a quick glance, Lycurgus gave her hands a final squeeze. "I'll make this right," he promised her again. He released his hold, running after the lad, out into the cold of winter. Agafya was left along, hands clasping one another, her eyes dulled by the dread that had suddenly filled her. Dread, spreading over the joy she had felt only a moment before.

"I know you will."

* * *

 ***From Chapter Sixteen of "Give or Take"**

 ***From Chapter Twenty of "Give or Take"**

 ***Eleos = Greek spirit of mercy, pity, and compassion.**

 **Whew. Okay, I am not a romance person, so this was hard for me; a little uncharted waters. But I felt that the reconciliation between husband and wife should be significant. I had to write this over and over until I was satisfied, that's why it took a little longer.**

 **I AM SO EXCITED! My "Asterix and the Missing Scroll" finally came today in the mail! Naturally, I've already read it. ;) If anyone wants to talk about it, go to the fanfiction Asterix forum "Sword and Gourd".**


	27. Posing to Strike

The hard wood door felt stiff and unyielding beneath Obelix's cold knuckles as he knocked hesitantly. He did it slowly, carefully, three consecutive raps that he had to force out without wavering. They were far softer than his usual pounding strength, the force that normally tore doors right off their hinges. If he wanted Abbadon to help him, than he would have to make sure he didn't make her angry, and a good start would be _not_ wrecking her house. Obelix felt just about ready to faint with anxiety, a lightheadedness that threatened to twist his vision and collapse his knees, just like the feeling he used to get when Panacea was around, only this was far less pleasant. If someone had asked why he was so frightened, he wouldn't have been able to say, only that the atmosphere around this particular complex made his skin crawl. He felt as though eyes were watching him from every angle, and that, if he should try to turn and run, claws would reach and grab him, pulling him back with a snarl. And so he stood stiffly, hand still raised from his knocking, trying to keep his breaths and nerves even and steady. He kept resisting the impulse to look down at Dogmatix at his feet, or ask Asterix a worried question, knowing that neither one were there to answer. He was on his own. He'd have to face this alone.

Even before the resounding bang from his fist on the door had faded, he could hear a smooth, neutral voice give a murmur from within the complex before him, followed by slow, deliberate footfalls. It ate at his nerves as he stood there waiting, half of his mind screaming at him to run off and forget the whole thing. But the other half was insistent, and he was powerless to fight it. He had not come all this way to turn back now. That thought kept his weight planted, even if his knees were threatening to start knocking together. He braced his feet solidly, knees locked, so that he was in full control of what both did. He wasn't going to run away. No matter _how_ scared he was, he wouldn't. He had come all this way, and he wasn't going to let it be for nothing.

It seemed to take an eternity for the cracked, wooden door to slowly creak open, revealing the face of a very elderly woman. Her hair, grey and loosely tied behind her head in a messy bun, was laced with odd little trinkets and beads. Her appearance, in fact, seemed devoted to the strange and unusual. Fur, as grey as the hair on her head, lined the earth-colored tunic that she wore, its fabric reaching down below her knees. Pouches, bulging because they were so full, sat upon her sash of leather that was wrapped snugly about her sagging waist. It reminded Obelix of the soothsayer that had once caused so much trouble in the village, and that alone heightened his anxiety. This woman was taller than he thought she would be, coming even higher than Panacea, who was one of the tallest woman Obelix knew. But her body, old as it obviously was, was strong and straight, not bent in years like one might expect. It commanded a sort of respect, and instilled what might have been fear, though much fainter. Apprehension? But the thing that stood out the most about her was her eyes. They were piercing brown, but with little flecks of gold that would catch the light and sparkle as she flitted her gaze about, movements smooth and regal. She seemed to take in all the world at a glance, analyzing, seeing, and knowing. Her mouth, large and pressed in a thin line, lifted into a broad smile when she saw him, and Obelix realized she still had all her teeth; a very rare occurance for one of her obvious age indeed.

"I-I…I'm looking for...Abbadon?" Obelix stuttered, his statement flipping up on the end, turning into a nervous question. Gazing into those eyes was almost hypnotic, and that voice within him telling him to leave became just a little stronger. Those eyes, of all things, reminded him of Mastix's eyes, not because they looked the same, but in that they were very much the opposite of what his had been. The evil druid's eyes had been dark, almost black, giving off hatred and malice. These…These seemed to almost give off their own light, and were curious and smiling, but in an invasive way. A searching way. And he wasn't quite sure he liked it.

The woman's expression became one of amusement, those swirling orbs widening to let in as much light as possible, or perhaps to let it out. "I have not heard that name for many, many years." She was studying him, taking in his build and face; reading him like a scroll, as though by simply gazing into his eyes, she knew his whole life and all its ups and downs. Her smile grew as she kept her gaze lined to his, locking it in place with what felt like his very soul. "I am Abbadon."

She seemed taller as she said it, more intimidating. It rumbled in his ears, though Obelix was pretty sure it was just his imagination. Obelix swallowed, wanting to look away, or at least blink, but finding he was unable to. He was caught in a stare, and he wasn't sure whether his body just didn't feel like listening, or if something were holding it there by force. It didn't hurt, but he felt his heart start pounding harder in his chest. "Th-Th-There is s-something I would like t-to talk to you a-about…" What was happening?! Why was he so nervous? He never stuttered like this. There was no reason to be afraid, he was strong after all. She couldn't hurt him. She couldn't do, and wouldn't do anything to him unless he asked. And he was _going_ to ask. Obelix struggled to gather his wits as the woman finally broke eye contact, and he felt instantly freed. She stepped aside, gesturing for him to step through the doorway.

"Won't you join me? I was just sitting down for a brew of imported tea. From Lutetia."

Obelix nodded obediently, following as he had to turn sideways in order to make it through the thin door frame. As he stepped from light to darkness, he blinked repeatedly, wishing away the blindness that the lack of light caused him. By Toutatis, how could someone manage to keep their home so dark? He wanted very much to see Abbadon at all times, in front of him where he could keep an eye on her. Thankfully, after a moment of panic, Obelix's eyes adjusted to the murky darkness, and he realized it wasn't really as black as he had first thought. Carefully, he took in his surroundings as he shut the door gently behind him.

The cottage was still very dark, as far as most homes were concerned. Most of it was half-light, a sort of bluish grey tint to everything, except over by the hearth. A fire, red and warm, was burning silently, even the crackle of burning wood absent from the room. It cast eerie shadows, lengthening them in streaks of black and reddish orange. It was a terribly cluttered room, filled with odds and ends that Obelix couldn't even place. Getafix had always had a habit of stuffing things on shelves and in corners, but this was a bit much. Objects occupied almost every area of space, crowding tables and chairs alike, leaving no place to sit, and hardly any place to stand.

"A moment." Abbadon moved forward, using her hands and feet to push and kick things aside, clearing a good portion of the floor in a very short time, with little concern for the objects themselves. She cleared a stool, a large one, and placed it down by the fire, indicating that the Gaul should take a seat. Obelix did so, still feeling a little uneasy, and slightly embarrassed as the stool creaked beneath his weight. Thankfully, it didn't break. She gave him a grin, eyes locking his a moment before she left to disappear into a little side room, talking all the while. "I don't get many visitors, you understand," she called from what Obelix assumed was the kitchen. He could hear the clanking of pottery and the shifting of dried herbs. "People tend to give me a wide birth." She cackled, her age coming out in the tone of it, if nothing else. "But you…You are not from this region, are you?"

Obelix twiddled his fingers anxiously, glancing about him at the surrounding room as though he expected something to jump out at him. Like any druid's home, bottles lined the various shelves and along where the floor met the wall. They were labeled in some language he didn't understand, but all had a very florescent glow to their substance, like the mushrooms that sometimes grew in the caves near the village. Herbs and branches hung from the ceiling, brown, dead, and drooping; their withered leaves dropping down to gather on the floor beneath them. It all smelled very much like Getafix's hut, only this was staler, stagnant, almost of a decaying quality. It wasn't unbearable, but it was a good deal stronger than he was used to. "No," he answered politely, not wishing to be rude. Abbadon, though seemingly pleasant enough, seemed to carry a certain feel about her. One that said she may be a valuable friend, but as an enemy she would be a dangerous and threatening force. "I'm from higher Armorica. In a village by the sea."

More clacking of pottery, and then she was back in sight, carrying a small cauldron filled with water. She placed it on a hook over the fire, before she finally cleared herself another stool and placed it opposite her guest, again trailing her gaze over him curiously. "Armorica. Hmm, yes. I have been there. Long ago." A faraway glaze seemed to come over her, and her smile faltered, revealing, for just a moment, a hint of animosity, a disproving frown. But as quick as it was visible, it disappeared. Her grin back in place, she locked her gaze back on the Gaul's face. "People do not come to Abbadon for no reason. What is it you want of me?"

Obelix hesitated, then opened his mouth to answer, before he quickly shut it again. He had never given any thought into actually explaining his request. Subconsciously, he may have even of doubted he would have even of made it this far at all, let along explain to someone why he was there. With an agitated jolt, he stood from his stool, Abbadon watching his every movement with a searching calm, her smile small but present. Obelix took a few steps, back facing her, his hands grasped in front of his chest as he struggled to gather his thoughts. There was a thousand ways he could do this, or, at least, so it felt. He could mutter an explanation, bring it about carefully and casually. Or he could blurt it out, like a storm finally released from his soul. But he didn't want to startle her, or anger her, or displease her. He needed her help. Lying wasn't even an option, as it didn't even occur to him. But the truth stood out in his mind, and he decided that the best, and fairest, option would be just to tell this woman the truth, however it may come out. Though, perhaps, not all of it. Only what was necessary. And so, with a deep breath, he turned back to face her.

"I want you to take…to take something away from me."

Abbadon raised a bushy brow, the trinkets and baubles in her hair and on her clothing swinging as she leaned forward, partially to hear him better and partially out of interest. "Take _something_ away? Whatever do you mean?" Her eyes held that glow again, and Obelix decided that he definitely didn't like it.

The Gaul grasped his hands in front of him tightly, almost hard enough to turn his knuckles white. He hadn't realized this was going to be so hard. "I-I have a lot of strength…They tell me it's unusual...special...but I…I don't want it anymore." He gulped, his eyes falling to focus on the floor unconsciously. "It's done a lot for my friends in the past, but lately…well, it's just caused more harm than good…And I want it…g-gone." Abbadon was no longer smiling. She looked all at once very serious and stern, and Obelix decided that this was worse than her invading grin and gaze. He felt as though his only wish was to crawl away and hide, but that wouldn't fix anything. He held his position, waiting for her to speak.

The woman's finger tapped rhythmically on her knobby knee as she stared at him, contemplating. She had sensed his unusual strength the moment she had seen him, the effect being almost dizzying. Never before had she felt such solid will and soul, a strength that was there as well as in this man's rather large body. He contained strength of heart as well as strength of the physical, and it was fascinating. But also, in a way, rather troubling. Finally, quiet and slow, she answered his words with two, low questions. "What do you think I am? What is it you expected to find when you came here?"

Obelix blinked. He wasn't exactly sure what she meant by that, or where she planned to go with it, but he answered truthfully. "I…was told you were a woman druid. And that, if there was anyone out there that could take this…this curse away from me, it would be you." He watched curiously as a strange expression came and then disappeared on her face.

"You say this is a curse. Why?" She could almost feel his heart sink as shame and fear replaced his determination.

"I…Because of my strength, I hurt my best friend. If I don't get rid of it, it might happen again. And I can't live knowing that those I care about the most…might be afraid of me."

Abbadon nodded slowly, leaning over to remove the small cauldron from the flames, having noticed that the water was boiling. She took a handful of granules from the pouch at her side, throwing them into the bubbling liquid. The room was instantly filled with a smell that reminded Obelix very much of the forest back in Armorica. The woman sat very still, watching the clear water turn a shade of dark brown, giving it a quick stir before she turned back to her guest. She stood, taking a step toward him, studying him harder now than ever. Obelix took an involuntary step back, but she caught his hand, keeping him from moving away. Her touch was cold, but gentle, and yet he felt that even if he tried he would not have been able to pull away. He watched her as she closed her eyes, a look of concentration on her face, before his head felt rather foggy, like he had just woken up. Still her hand kept him standing, grounded to the spot like an anchor. And then she let go, and his mind instantly cleared, though he felt a little shaky.

"I-Is that it then?" he stuttered, struggling to stop the shaking in his hand as he pulled it back to his side. "Is it...Did you take it away?"

She shook her head, trinkets jingling as she released a small chuckle. "No," she said, the amusement suddenly gone, her eyes traveling back up to his anxious face, gaze once again that swirling hypnosis. Or, at least, what felt as though it was. Obelix still couldn't determine whether it was an actual power, or if his imagination was getting the better of him. "I was merely trying to determine the extent of your…curse. I needed to know if it was within my range to manipulate."

He swallowed. "And is it?"

"It is."

There was an awkward pause, in which Obelix expected her to say more, but she seemed quite stubbornly intent against it. The seconds felt like years, and the Gaul suddenly felt maybe it was he who was supposed to speak next. Druids were unusual people, and though he had never even heard of a woman druid, he suspected that they were equally cryptic. They tended to like to give you the clues, and then sit back and watch as you put them together. Sometimes it was extremely frustrating. Fidgeting, Obelix gave his instinct a try.

"Do you think you can...um, d-"

"What is your name?"

"Huh?"

"Your name. What is it?"

Oh. That's right. He hadn't even introduced himself. Another bit of proof on how mixed up and turned around his life had become. His mother had always drilled into him the importance of good manners, even from his earliest memories. As had Getafix. And Geriatrix. Everyone, in fact, that had been an adult during his youth. The fact that he had almost literally barged into this woman's home, without so much as a tip of his helmet, was suddenly very embarrassing. His cheeks turned almost as red as his braided hair.

"O-Oh, um, i-it's Obelix. My name is...Obelix."

She nodded slowly. "Obelix...Yes." She sighed, a short, slightly impatient huff, but with the smallest hint of uncertainty that Obelix found distinctly unsettling. It was like she was trying to make a particularly hard decision. "Very well. I shall take it from you, this strength." She narrowed her eyes. "If you are sure."

"I'm...I'm sure." After all the way that he had come, he had to be. No backing out. He had to remind himself of his reasons; it was for his friends, for Asterix, to keep them all safe. And that was more than enough in his mind to justify his actions. "I'm sure."

Another sigh as Abbadon took a single step back, a strange purple light beginning to fill the room. Obelix was confused by it at first, glancing about as though he expected to find the source, like some window someplace where the light might be reflecting through some bit of pottery or something. His confusion turned to shock when he realized that the unnatural glow was coming from Abbadon herself. The realization came with a terrible memory, of the same unnatural light that Mastix had also given in his magic, only green. It meant hurt, it meant pain, and it meant fear. And as the purple grew in strength, Obelix could not hide the grimacing flinch that shot across his expression. Abbadon seemed to notice it; a strange, neutral expression crossing her own face, her magic diminishing just a bit.

"Obelix of Armorica. I do not have to-"

"No!" He flinched again at the almost desperate tone to his voice, but persisted. "N-No. Do it."

"...Very well."

The purple magic picked up again, this time stronger; more determined. It filled the room, until even the orange glow of the hearth had been drowned out. The room felt oddly cold, and yet alive with a buzzing that wasn't so much a sound as it was a feeling that crawled over one's skin. It curled in visible wisps up around the ceiling, slinking around the hanging herbs and vegetables. It was almost like a third presence, like it was a soul and being all its own. It was forming, searching, and Obelix resisted the urge to back away from its prying hunt. It was looking for him, twisting this way and that before, all at once, it had found him. With a sound like a wind through the treetops, it began to converge before him, like a weapon taking aim. Like a serpent preparing to strike, right into his heart. Obelix held his breath; quite a difficult task when his lungs refused to listen. He was panting with fear, for a reason he wasn't even entirely sure of. Maybe it was just the prospect of that, what he now realized was, no normal druidic magic. This was different. Darker. Older. But it was too late to turn back now. And so, eyes closing so that he could no longer see the thing that was about to rip perhaps the most important thing within him out, Obelix braced himself. It was perhaps one of the bravest things he had ever done. Too bad it was going to hurt so much. With a weak nob, he gave Abbadon his last consent, and the woman gathered herself and lurched her magic forward toward its target.

"STOP!"

There was a flash of bright, golden light, and everything within the witch's cottage came to a shrieking halt.

* * *

 **Man, I am SO sorry! I really don't know why this chapter gave me so much trouble! I kept writing it, rewriting it, and re-rewriting it. _Yesh!_** **It was like writer's block, only somehow worse. Plus I had some tests at college to worry over, a paper to write, applications to sent in (last minute, as is my usual brilliance [cough, _NOT!_ ]). Oh! By the way, two really cool things: I got accepted into a university, where it looks like I will be finally taking ANIMATION! So happy. :) The other thing is that I am now the concept artist for a video game. Not a paying job yet, but experience is always welcome. Super excited about that. ;) Hope I can do it right. :{**

 **I'm starting the next chapter right away, so hopefully the next post won't be nearly as long in the coming. Thanks for all your patience guys! You are all amazing. ;)**


	28. Wounds Brought to Light

Asterix felt as though he were on the very verge of his breaking apart. His heart was pounding harder than he could ever remember it doing in the past, his breaths ragged from running, but also from pure, unbridled terror. Half way down the street that he had been told Abbadon lived on, he had felt a tug at his being that very nearly crushed his soul and stopped his breathing altogether. He had sensed the buildup of strong, dark magic nearby, and had known instinctively that that magic was aimed at his dearest and closest friend. If at all possible, he had run even faster, leaving Itylus and Getafix behind as he had torn around corners and raced across the cobblestones so quickly that friction had begun to burn at his feet. He had spotted the sign above a small cottage door, and though he couldn't read it, he had known it was the right one. Without hesitation, Asterix had pushed through the door and entered, his eyes widening even further at the sight that had greeted him, stopping him, frozen, for a moment in his tracks.

The room was aglow with swirling purple, so thick it was like a dense fog. It wiggled about as though it were alive, trailing along the walls and congregating into every corner and available space. Asterix's lungs had instantly seized up, a natural reaction, a subconscious fear that if he breathed he would somehow get a body full of the stuff. But it wasn't just what he could see that gripped him, it was what he couldn't. That feeling, that sensation of magic in the air caused him to flinch as images and memories assaulted his mind, only to receive another wave of the same. If he had been left to this, Asterix might have stayed there, stuck in his own private torture, unable to step out to freedom, and unable to step forward to attack. But, all at once, the fog in the room, as well as the fog in his brain, cleared for just a moment. And, through it, he spotted the very person he had traveled all this way to find. His heart warmed instantly, all thoughts of Mastix and the past disappearing back where they belonged, and for a moment Asterix actually smiled. Before his expression was suddenly struck with horror.

Obelix; dear, sweet, kind, simple Obelix, was standing stiff and erect, braced for the wave of magic that was even now bracing to strike him. The large Gaul's eyes were closed, his face tinged with determination and fear, intense concentration that proved he was fighting his own instinct to run away. Asterix knew that look, and he had displayed it himself more than once. It was a look Asterix decided, right then and there, should never, _ever_ be on his friend's face, and that he would ensure it never would be; not now, and certainly never again.

There was very little time to act, the dark, purple magic was gathering, but Asterix's adrenaline was pumping through his small body and he leaped forward with a speed that would have put a wild boar to shame. Just as Abbadon stretched her arms forward, and the magic substance lurched to do its work, Asterix landed between them and, summoning his inner light, which he had not used since his dealing with Mastix, Asterix released an intense burst of golden light.

"STOP!"

Several things happened in quick succession, the first being that the golden energy shot out in all directions of the room, hitting and literally destroying every wisp of purple magic that had existed. It screeched out of reality with a flash, eaten up, like all darkness is, by the light. The second thing, that happened almost instantaneously, was that Abbadon, with a cry of her own, was pushed backward by the power that assaulted her own. She was flung, eyes wide in surprise, back against the piles of objects that cluttered her home, causing them to fall over and scuttle across the floor, her trinkets jingling. And the third, and perhaps the most important, was that Obelix's eyes shot open, filled with confusion, as he beheld and then recognized the golden glow. With a gasp, his eyes fell to the space before him, and Obelix was greeted by the sight of Asterix, back to him and hands spread out before him in a gesture of protection, glowing almost as brightly as the stars themselves. There was a moment where nothing moved; no one spoke, and the only sound was Abbadon and Asterix's rough breaths as the two stared into one another's eyes. The magic had completely dissipated, and only Asterix's golden glow remained, strong, steady, and fiercely protective.

"…A-Asterix?"

Obelix eyes held total confusion, a feeling that he had grown unnaturally accustomed to, unfortunately. It took a moment for his mind to accept his friend's presence as reality, only staring in shock until it sunk in. Asterix really was there. Asterix really, truly was there. With a whoop of joy Obelix stooped down lay a hand on his best friend, apparently not sensing that Asterix was extremely tense at the moment. But, just as his hand hovered over the smaller Gaul's shoulder, Obelix's memory kicked in with a ruthless jolt. He remembered why he had come; why he had run away in the first place. Asterix was not supposed to have made it here before Obelix had completed what he had come to do. Joy turning to frustration, Obelix stood straight back up again, hands fisting and moving to his wide hips.

"Asterix!" and now he sounded almost annoyed, with a hint of what could have been anxiety tickling the edge of his voice. "What are you doing here?! You're supposed to be back in the village!" Back where it was safe.

Asterix was too worked up, eye fixed upon Abbadon as she struggled to her feet, to actually look back at his friend, but his tone sounded strained, and almost panicked. "I came to bring you home! I came to stop you from making a-" The short Gaul was whipped around, releasing a slight cry of surprise and distress at not being able to face their foe any longer. He looked up with frantic disapproval at his friend, who now had a hold on his shoulders in an effort to make Asterix look at him directly. Asterix felt like his back was completely exposed to any attack Abbadon might try, and he struggled to turn back around, all the while trying to abrading Obelix. "What are you doing?!" But he could not escape his friend's grip. "Obelix, you don't know what you're doing! You're making a foolish mistake!"

Obelix was concerned with how unnaturally upset Asterix seemed to be, but his own distress over being found before he was ready made the large Gaul angry. Not to mention that Asterix had just attacked the very woman he had come to see, for no reason Obelix could think of, and that both surprised him and worried him, resulting in more bad temper at his friend's sudden appearance. Asterix seemed intent on ruining everything he had worked so hard, traveled so far, for; and he wasn't quite sure how to take it. Wasn't sure how he should interpret the words, those hurtful words his friend was, at that very moment, yelling up at him. Asterix was smart, but that didn't mean he was always right. With that in mind, the large Gaul answered just as heatedly.

"I am not foolish! And this isn't your decision to make, _Mister Asterix_!"

Asterix didn't even rise to their usual argument. There was no returning of 'Mister Obelix' or name-calling of any sort. If anything, the blond Gaul's temper petered out, becoming pure desperation. "Obelix, y-you don't know what your doing!" Asterix was shaking subtly, images flashing through his mind of possible outcomes of this disaster. He could feel Abbadon behind him, her magic slowly re-gathering about her. But Obelix was far too worked up now himself to stop.

"Don't I?!" he cried out, startling Asterix with the intensity of his voice. All the fear, and confusion, and anger that Obelix had been harboring since he had left the village burst forth in that single question. It was like the breaking of some wall, one he had started, it was hard to stop. He had never felt so distraught, and it frightened him, even as the words passed from his own mouth. "I'm trying to keep you and the others safe!"

"Safe?! From _what?!_ "

"ME!"

There was a terrible silence, so strong and empty it was almost as though the whole world had gone still. The only sound was Obelix's heavy breathing and the slight crackle of the fireplace. Asterix had gone completely still, held between his friend's strong hands, looking first confused, then saddened by a dreadful understanding. He didn't even care that the position he was in was making his broken arm ache, he could only stare up in regret at his friend's slowly dissipating anger. The blond warrior was somehow able to read that expression, sense the meaning behind Obelix's words just by looking him dead in the eyes, and he finally understood why Obelix had left so suddenly. Why he had gone off to get rid of the one thing that made Obelix different from anyone else.

"O-Obelix…"

"You can't stop me, Asterix," Obelix continued, in a considerably weaker tone. He was trying so very hard to be forceful, but couldn't quite bring himself to be; not with the look Asterix was now giving him. A look of unanticipated guilt. "I can't allow me to hurt you or anyone else ever again. I wouldn't be able to take it, you know? So, please…just let me-"

"Asterix!"

Feet pounding just as hard as his heart, Getafix raced in through Abbadon's door, looking worried and distraught. Though not nearly as much as he felt when he entered the frozen little scene in the cramped cottage. He came to an abrupt halt, Itylus almost running into his back, taking in Obelix's frustration, Asterix's fear and -"

"ENOUGH!"

Standing to her feet purposefully, Abbadon's face was filled with dark anger. There was a sound within the confines of her home like the breaking of thunder, shaking the very floor. The uninvited guests gasped, but not only from surprise.

Asterix felt a force wrap around him, strong and overly warm. His body glowed a fierce purple, and for a moment he panicked. He tried to back out of it, break through it, but he couldn't. It held him in place firmly, keeping him from doing anything other than breathing. Memories flashed, a scene in which Mastix had used his magic to hold him steady; keep him from moving. The burning sensation, being pulled and pushed and torn; he remembered it, even if this one was gentler, more subtle. But that did very little good in calming Asterix nerves. She was using a paralyzing spell, and Asterix was aware that the others, Getafix, Obelix, and Itylus, were just as trapped as he was.

Obelix felt his heart jolt in surprise when he found he could no longer move. His eyes widened, and he took an unsteady breath. What was happening? He was so confused. All he had wanted was to keep the village safe, and it had all suddenly gone and gotten incredibly complicated. Asterix was here, and that meant he intended to stop him. But he couldn't let that happen; he was doing this partially for Asterix's sake. And now, magic swirled all around him, keeping both his body and his mouth still. He couldn't even voice the indignant retort he would have liked to respond with. But deep down, a tiny hint of fear stirred. Especially when he realized his friends were also being treated in the same manner.

Getafix felt distinctly ill. His heart felt as though it were stuttering to keep from panic. He was too far from his friends to help; still close to the door where he had just come barging in. He wished he could place himself firmly between them and Abbadon, who was looking very displeased. She had risen from the floor, eyes blazing with an eerie gleam. The druid wasn't sure what he had missed, but he fervently wished he could stop it from going any further. Getafix could feel Itylus at his back, realizing that, for one unfamiliar with magic, the young man was probably finding this experience rather unnerving. But there wasn't much time to think about that.

"You have come charging into my home," Abbadon growled, stepping toward Asterix menacingly. She felt her hold on Obelix and the old one shudder, as both attempted to reach for the little man protectively, but were held back, unable to shift in the slightest. She paused, but was not finished with her frustrated monologue.

"You have disturbed my day of relaxation, and you," she pointed to Obelix, "have come seeking my knowledge and power. And yet, none of you have told me what is happening!" She stomped her foot down in a very childish manner, though the slight tightening of her spell made the situation very serious. "And if you will not tell me, I will find out for myself!"

The old woman's eyes closed, the room becoming just as still as the individuals she was holding in place.

Asterix mentally gasped, being unable to do so physically. He couldn't stop himself from shaking as something, like a fog, invaded his mind. At the first tinglings of it, he had internally braced himself for tearing, ripping pain, like the kind Mastix had always hit him with. Instead, it was almost gentle, careful, as though not wanting to cause him any true harm. He thought he heard Obelix and Getafix grunt, but couldn't turn to see. His eyes were fixed to Abbadon's own, even though they were closed. It was almost as though they were still open, boring into him.

The others were in very much the same situation; a dark fog invading their minds, prying but gentle. Getafix had tried to fight it, casting a spell in his own mind out of a rare instinct of self-defense. But Abbadon's magic was surprisingly strong, and it forced right through the barrier without even slowing down. It didn't hurt, but it was certainly uncomfortable.

Itylus was reeling, having no defenses against, or even knowledge of, something like this. He had struggled at first, to the best of his ability, but even then had not managed to move even a little. His natural instinct for strength and force were stripped away, and he slowly realized with anxiety that he was as helpless as a child.

Dogmatix, meanwhile, who had come in with Getafix and had thus forward not even been noticed, whined at his master's feet. The pup's ears dropped, eyes fixed in fear on Abbadon, even though he wasn't sure what was happening. He could only sense it. He could sense his master's confusion, Asterix and Itylus' fear, and Getafix's fierce need to protect. And there was nothing the pup could do, but paw at Obelix's foot and whine again, eyes never leaving the witch.

Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the feeling dissipated, and with shaky sighs of relief, Asterix, Getafix, and Itylus stumbled to sit on the nearest available object. Only Obelix seemed able to stand, though he looked a bit paler than before.

Abbadon's expression was calm, watching, with not a trace of anger left in it. She seemed almost regretful, but with a sense of stubborn right, as though she felt she had taken the steps she had had to. "I'm sorry, but I have never been known for my patience. I was tiring of all this excitement."

Getafix regulated his breathing, most of which was only strained due to the panic that had taken over during paralysis. He had bad memories of such spells, just as Asterix did, and it had shaken him quite badly. "Your spells...are very...strong." He panted uneasily, his eyes quickly flitting to the others. They seemed alright, a little frightened, but nothing more. Asterix was the worst. The short warrior had backed up by several steps, wary gaze fixed on the old woman.

"It is," Abbadon replied curtly, eyeing the druid thoughtfully. "As are you, Getafix of the Carnutes; Student of the Venerable Druid, and keeper of the secret of the Magic Potion."

Getafix blanched ever so slightly. He wasn't sure if she knew his name because she remembered him, or because she had somehow determined it through her spell. He had only been a child when the witch had come to the Carnutes, and he hadn't had much interaction with her, so the druid imagined it must be the later. It made him uncomfortable, knowing that all one had to do to know all about him was to know the right spell.

"I-I don't understand," Obelix spoke up uncertainly, voice slightly strained.

Abbadon's eyes slowly shifted to him, and there was no ill will in them. In fact, she seemed eager to sooth him. "There has been a misunderstanding. Several in fact." She turned to face Getafix again, a smile playing about her lips. "For you, it is that I mean you and your friends harm. Is that not true?"

Getafix opened his mouth to answer, but then shut it again with a look of confusion. He nodded.

"Ah," the old woman said knowingly, nodding in turn. "I see. You have nothing to fear from me, Caomhnóir*. I am not the woman you remember. I will not hurt them. Or you." She offered her hand, and after a moment of hesitation, Getafix took it. The woman gently pulled him back to his feet.

Getafix allowed himself to be steadies warily. "But…we thought-"

"That I was still the sorceress that you remember as a child?"

Getafix nodded, a little numbly. She really had read him well. No wonder she had once thought herself worthy of becoming a druid. Getafix was uncertain as to whether he had ever seen such powerful magic, other than in Mastix, and his own mentor.

Abbadon cackled at his expression, but it wasn't a cruel laugh, more amused. "Yes. I now remember you, Getafix. Though, only as you remember me. And I have heard much of you, even all the way from here in Burdigala. Fear not, I am not the sorceress I was before, I am now a healer." Her face all at once changed from cheerful to somber. "And there are those here in very much need of healing."

Slowly, she turned to Asterix. He was still gazing at her like a trapped animal, braced and stiff, leaning back against a stack of her many belongings. He was still breathing heard, and she instantly felt guilty for having scared him so badly. Her actions may have made matters worse in that respect. Carefully, eyes never once leaving his, she moved toward him, reaching out a hand to touch him gently. Her words were simple.

"...You are a Solas Anam..."

"Don't you touch him!"

Obelix was faster than her, stepping forward to bar his arm between her and Asterix, keeping her at bay. His expression was full of betrayal and fear. Having seen the woman's power, the large Gaul had come to the conclusion that Abbadon was no mere woman druid. Even Getafix could not cast such frightening magic. And that she somehow knew of Asterix's gift, made Obelix doubly protective, memories of Mastix hitting him hard.

To Obelix's surprise, Abbadon merely chuckled, giving him a warm smile. It was almost...fond? It still unnerved him, and he stood steady, as he was against her will. The menhir deliveryman could be quite stubborn when he wanted to be.

Abbadon continued to reach forward, still smiling at the rotund Gaul, fixing him still like she had when she had first let him in; keeping him motionless with only her gaze. Her hand reached past his protective block, still held out to Asterix coaxingly. Her words were gentle, still to Obelix. Calm and unconcerned. "I will not hurt him."

Her eyes shifted to Asterix's, waiting. The blond Gaul looked distinctly uneasy by her presence; not to mention his senses were probably thrumming with adrenaline. He was a warrior, Abbadon had read it in him through her spell. She could also read his wariness, mistrust, and a terrible wound that was of no physical property. It was more deep within him; invisible.

Asterix seemed to be battling himself. Half of him was far too suspicious to accept the old woman, but the other half, the half he had learned to trust, told him that she was speaking the truth. His thoughts warred it out, neither one giving way at first. But then, slowly, the little man's hand reached out, carefully returning Abbadon's grasp.

The woman smiled. "There you are." She drew him forward a few steps, before letting his hand go, allowing him to stand alone before her. "You have a very strong soul." He flinched. "But it is ill."

"What did you do to us?" he asked angrily, trying to draw the attention away from himself. "Just now, what did you do?"

Abbadon let herself be led by his evasion. "I used an old spell, to search your minds for the answers you were all too upset to speak of yourselves."

"But what about my strength?" Obelix asked, still filled with the desperation to do what he had come to do before Asterix stopped him. He stepped forward, towering over them both.

Abbadon shook her head patiently. "That would be most unwise."

"W-Why?" Obelix suddenly felt uneasy. Or, at least, even more uneasy than he had already been. "Why would it not be wise?"

It was Getafix who answered; gently. "Obelix, the power that gives you strength is essential to your survival." He read the Gaul's further scowl of confusion. He had been away from Obelix so long, he had forgotten that sometimes their friend needed a simpler explanation. He wasn't dumb, just simple, and innocent. "If...If your strength were taken away from you...you would..." Why was it so hard to say?

"You would die," Asterix finished softly.

Obelix's confusion deepened, then, slowly, as understanding began to gather within him and the connection between everything was made, he turned very pale. For once, his strength failed him, and he sat back down on his stool from earlier, shoulders limp at the implications of what he had almost done. "Oh, Toutatis…"

Asterix gave his friend a sympathetic look, before turning his gaze back to Abbadon, questions filling him as his fear faded and his courage returned. "But…you left the Carnutes with threats, to continue in your dark magic."

"Indeed I did. But even evil can find a path other than evil. Wrong only remains wrong until it is made right. I was wrong to become so angry at the Druids. I asked for their blessing, and when they could not give me it, I allowed myself to be filled with hate." Abbadon's face filled with an emotion they had not yet seen; guilt. "It is a darkness that that is terribly hard to escape. But not impossible. As the years went by, and my thirst for revenge faded, and my anger subsided, I saw the error of my ways. I changed, as so few who are in the wrong ever do." Her smile returned. "I have not used magic of any form, other than to heal; until today. I was healed from the evil I had lived in for so long."

She saddened, suddenly, her eyes sweeping the room. "But I sense in each and every one of you a great hurt all your own that needs healing. And I know why. As a healer, I cannot ignore it."

Turning and pointing to Obelix almost accusingly, she spoke in a firm tone, leaving no room for argument. "For you it is the injury of fear that has plagued you." She shifted her hand to Asterix, feeling him flinch as her fingers brushed him. "For you it is the wound of guilt." She glanced at Getafix. "Worry and uncertainty." And to Itylus she said, "Confusion. These all need to be healed, for if the are not, time will only worsen them."

Itylus, feeling uncomfortable, shifted, deciding to speak. "What are we to you, woman? Why are you so concerned of those you do not know?"

Abbadon gave another one of her amused cackles. But then her expression became solemn and serious. "You have all come so far, do not you think that there might be a reason? A reason beyond your understanding? I am a healer. I heal. And I see great wounds here." She smiled wanly. "I simply wish to help."

"How?" Asterix spoke up softly. He was feeling uncharacteristically small and helpless. He knew the old woman's words were true, he had felt that ache in his soul since the incident with Mastix. He had talked with Getafix about it. He _was_ wounded, but for the life of him he couldn't think of how to fix it. It was like a tall wall he had run up against; there was no way around it, or under it, and he just didn't feel strong enough to climb past. He was trapped, and he realized that now more than ever.

Abbadon reached out carefully again, her fingers brushing against the Solas Anam pin on Asterix tunic. This time, to the woman's appreciation, Asterix did not try to shift away. He was gazing up at her with a sense of desperate trust, and it almost broke her heart to see it. She could read his pain, the injury deep within him clear to her. But healing, she knew, was not always easy. "You need to let them go."

"But we've tried," Obelix said weakly. He was still shaken from what very well could have been his death. He felt a twinge of frustration, that his entire journey might have been for nothing. What a terrible, messed up mix up.

"No. No, you have not," Abbadon chided softly, like a mother to her children. "You have hung on to these things, despite you're not wanting them. They have become a lifeline, a connection to them that only grows stronger the harder you try to push it away. Accept your fear, accept your guilt, understand your worry, uncertainty, and confusion. For it is only when one realizes what is wrong that something can be addressed, and be banished from existence forever. It is only when one realizes that they are ill that they seek a healer. Only then can they be healed." She settled her eyes on Asterix, meeting his gaze strongly. "Mastix hurt you. And in hurting you, he hurt your friends." Her eyes shifted to Getafix and Obelix. "But it is over. Do not live in the past. For the past festers and rots in the soul. You must let it heal and grow."

Asterix blinked slowly.

He wasn't sure he understood everything, but he determined that he knew enough. His guilt, of the past and the future, had been burdening him. And now he recognized it as the wound Abbadon was speaking of. He had let his guilt consume him; let it take control. Guilt had been the energy behind his every motive. It had driven him to do his impulsive safety checks back at the village; it had driven him to take everything with a much more serious air; and it had definitely been the drive behind his mad race across the country to find Obelix. He had blamed himself for everything; Mastix's attacks, Obelix's accident as a little boy, and even the situation they were in now. Guilt had taken over, and Asterix, recognizing it as his oppressor, wanted it gone. And if facing it was the answer, then he would do so.

But now wasn't quite the time. Now was not the time to be straightening out internal problems. There was one thing Asterix felt he absolutely had to do, and that was understand the reason behind his best friend's disappearance. He _needed_ to understand. He _needed_ to mend the break between them, no matter what it might be.

"Obelix...why did you leave the village?"

To the others, the question seemed out of place in the conversation, but to Obelix it was expected. The large Gaul met Asterix's gaze for a moment, and it was as though they were the only two in the room, before his eyes slipped down to stare at the floor.

"I...I was afraid I would hurt you again," he whispered lowly. He had gone pale again, and his fingers interlocked anxiously in front of him, fidgeting tightly. He looked as if he wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

"Obelix," Asterix returned gently, turning to face his friend completely. Their difference in size was made all the more apparent as one was forced to look far up and the other far down to meet each other's gaze. "You didn't hurt me. I fell on my own. It was an accident. You couldn't have helped it."

Itylus internally winced.

"B-But my strength is dangerous, Asterix!" Obelix cried out, voice full of despair. He had held this in for far too long. "Strength has a habit of growing! I contained it well enough for a long time, but it needs room to expand! If I hold it in too long, it might break out, and someone I care about might get really hurt!" Tears were in his eyes now, and he had started shaking. "I could hurt _you_! Or Getafix! Or any of our friends, even little Dogmatix!" He looked almost fearfully down at the pup whining at his feet. "I-I'm too much of a danger to have around..."

Getafix's eyes widened in concern. Something was wrong with the words coming out of Obelix's mouth. They were fearful, true, but also fringed with a tinge that was discreetly _not_ Obelix. While Getafix had all the faith in the world when it came to Obelix's heart, he knew the Gaul was sometimes lacking in some of the more intellectual levels. But this, Getafix could not imagine Obelix coming up with something so dark and terrifying on his own. Not sweet, innocent, child-like Obelix. And it worried the druid, and made his heart and knees feel a little weak.

The druid stepped forward, now fully recovered from Abbadon's spell. His eyes were fixed on Obelix, his worry growing along with Obelix's increasingly agitated state. "Obelix, who told you these things?" The answer, though choked out through emotion, confirmed his fears.

"L-Lycurgus told m-me. He t-told me I should...l-leave."

Itylus visibly cringed, and Asterix's eyes jumped to Getafix so fast the motion almost seemed spasmodic.

"Lycurgus!" the blond Gaul yelped, his mind suddenly filling with all manner of thoughts and images. If Lycurgus had planted such thoughts in Obelix's head, and had somehow convinced Obelix to leave, then he had a feeling he had made another very grave mistake. "That man has used lies to hurt us!" Asterix exclaimed, turning even paler than his friend. "He must have- Oh, _Toutatis!_ We left the village unprotected!" A thrill of fear rocketed up Asterix's spine, filling him with dread.

"...That was the plan."

Every occupant in the room turned, eyes falling on Itylus. The sturdily built man was slouched, head lowered and eyes fixed firmly on the floor. He had sensed Abbadon watching him even before he had dared to speak. She knew. She knew what he had done; what he had been a part of, and he hadn't been able to hide it any longer. He took a deep breath before continuing.

"Lycurgus felt that your village held some sort of power, seeing the strength it had given Obelix... H-He wanted that power for himself. He...He convinced Obelix to...to leave the village, knowing that you, Asterix, would follow. Leaving the village under his control." The Greek's voice petered out as he was nearly swallowed by his own conflicting emotions. Betrayal. No matter how he looked at it, that was what he had done. He had betrayed the trust of Getafix, Obelix, Asterix; the whole village, and now, in telling them, he was betraying his own people. A shiver ran down Itylus' spine. "I-I'm so sorry."

Asterix looked positively stricken with panic for a moment, before it was replaced by an anger he rarely showed. It was his 'I am _so_ overwhelmed' anger, the kind even Obelix had a hard time facing without cringing. "Why would you do this?!" he cried, stepping toward the far taller man. His hands were clenched at his sides, shaking. This past year had really been too much for him. Mastix had been bad enough, but this...this was almost more than he could stand. A defeated look crossed with Asterix's anger, and his shoulders slumped even as he continued to stare up into Itylus' fearful eyes. His voice seemed almost weak as he asked again, "Why would you do this?"

Itylus shifted uncomfortably, feeling his sins crawling over his skin like insects. Why had he done this? Why had he followed Lycurgus so faithfully? So blindly? The answer was hardly satisfying. Itylus had followed Lycurgus because Lycurgus was his friend. He had followed Lycurgus because Lycurgus was his leader. Fear, duty, and allegiance had kept him on this path, and he had allowed it to tint his beliefs, and his actions.

"I lived under the words of Lycurgus for years. Even in Rome, in our cells, his voice would echo and carry promises of a day when we would no longer be weak and caged like beasts, waiting for the slaughter. Those words were hope, and peace." The Greek trembled. "But now, I see they are no more than lies. Strength does not lie in the body." His gaze on Asterix softened, becoming almost grateful, before he shifted his eyes to Obelix. "And it does not lie in the mind." His gaze returned to Asterix, piercing the Gaul with a sudden clarity. "Strength is in the heart. In the soul. You have shown this to me by your courage, and your care for each other. That is something Lycurgus has never shown me, and he is a fool not to see it."

Itylus cringed back slightly at his own words, as though realizing just how much of his own inner self he had shown. He wasn't used to being open. Lycurgus had always told him it was weak to do so. But, as the Greek continued, a portion of the heaviness in his heart diminished; his confusion beginning to clear. "I know I have no right to ask it of you, and I will understand however you wish to take me, but I ask for your forgiveness." Itylus fell down to one knee, hands clasping at the ground of Abbadon's hut. "I was wrong, and, in being so, I have greatly wronged you. All of you." He closed his eyes and lowered his head, awaiting judgment.

There was a long pause, so terribly long that, to Itylus, it felt like an eternity had passed. His shaking did not wane, and as the seconds passed he wished that he had never come. He wished that he had never destroyed the lives of so innocent a people, who had already been through so much. And then Itylus felt a small hand settle on his shoulder. He cringed, looking up with moist eyes. What he met with was beyond his understanding, or what he had expected.

Asterix had stepped forward and knelt in front of him, and it was the small warrior's hand that was now firmly pressing on Itylus' shoulder. The Gaul's eyes were staring into his own, and for a moment, the Greek could not place Asterix's expression. It was not anger, or hate; it was not even the betrayal Itylus had expected. This was something the Greek had never seen in Lycurgus. Something stronger than any of those other emotions. This was... _By Chronos_ , it was an expression of _mercy!_

"I cannot speak for my friends, here or in the village," Asterix spoke gently, his hand slipping off of Itylus' shoulder now that he had the Greek's attention. "But I will hold nothing against you. What you did was wrong, but I've made bad choices in the past...I cannot condemn someone for making the same mistake." The Gaul actually smiled. "I forgive you, friend." The warrior's expression darkened as he stood back to his feet, helping a stunned Itylus up as well. "But that doesn't do anything for the village. Lycurgus has had days to carry out whatever it is he planned, and it will take days to return." Asterix's defeated demeanor returned. "We'd be too late. We might already be too late."

The room was again filled with an uncomfortable silence, before Abbadon stepped forward, a smile playing across her face.

"I may have a solution."

* * *

 ***Caomhnóir = 'Guardian' in Irish. I came up with this as one of Getafix's 'titles', since in a sense he is the guardian of Asterix's village. :)**

 **It is true that we often hold onto the things that hurt us. I wrote this chapter based on my own experiences. I have been suffering very minor flashback-like things lately, and it's been causing a lot of trouble. I want nothing more than to be healed from those things, and yet I cling to them with a death grip. Why do we do that? Sometimes, I think it's because we don't accept what happened, and we haven't allowed ourselves to move on. It isn't easy, but it can be done. I'm trying. So, all 'Frozen' references aside, we need to LET IT GO.**

 **I am so sorry this was so long in coming. Things have been...tough. My mom was unwell for a while, and then I became ill, two or three times. Had some health problems. Graduation is coming up, so that's been a little nerve wracking. Writing this chapter, slow as it was, was how I de-stressed. Everything is clearing up though; my mom's better, I've got medicine to help me breathe (yay!) and graduation is next Friday. Thank you all so much for your patience!**


	29. Formed and Broken Trust

"Quick! Quick!"

Fulliautomatix grabbed the wrist of a struggling child, carefully swinging him up onto his shoulders while he reached out to a few of the other stragglers. The snow was cold, as was the air as the villagers raced across the village's center, making their way toward the wall. While the makeshift shoes of cloth they had made helped, it was still not enough to keep out all of the moisture and cold. But that didn't matter now.

They had jumped the guards so quickly, the blacksmith's head was still spinning from the rush. Fulliautomatix, despite years of being a prominent fish fight instigator, was certainly no warrior. He had battled, when necessary in the past, but only then with the Magic Potion coursing through his veins. This...This was different. This was a fight and a flight based on pure desperation. He himself had managed to knock down one of the largest Greek guards, resorting to his fist rather than his sword. His hand still stung from the punch.

Now, being swift was everything. The Gauls could already hear the alarm being raised; the enemy calling out to one another, shouting that the prisoners were escaping. They didn't have much time.

To the blacksmith's dismay, as the gates to the village came into view, the great, oaken threshold was closed and blocked. Of course, deep down he had expected that. Changing direction, Fulliautomatix led the villagers, racing for the small gate hidden within the village's wooden wall. Sliding to a slippery halt, the blacksmith set the child down from his shoulders, he and several of the other men reaching with shaking hands to try and open the closed opening. Their fingers slipped over the frosted surface, their breathing ragged from the run as misted, white puffs of breath floated around them.

"It's frozen shut!" Unhygienix cried out, his own hands struggling to find a hold. Beside him, Geriatrix was trying to push away the snowdrifts that had gathered around the door's base with his cane. It wasn't doing any good.

"There's too much snow," the elder muttered worriedly, glancing up at Fulliautomatix before shooting another glance back the way they had come. The enemy's shouting was growing nearer, armed men suddenly in view as the Greeks rounded the corner. There was a shout as the Greeks saw them, and then they were charging forward, full speed, to take them.

"Oh, by Toutatis!" the blacksmith growled. They had come too far to let it all fall through now. They had to get out of this. They needed to get through that wall!...Or over it. Fulliautomatix's eyes rose frantically to rest on the parapets above them, an idea forming in the back of his mind. There was a ladder, not more than twenty paces to their right, and with a quick decision, the blacksmith rushed toward it, grabbing the hands of the two closest children. "The ladder! Get up the ladder!" He set the little ones onto the fifth rung, urging them up, waving to the others to follow. The Gauls hurried up, helping each other and taking two rungs at a time. They succeeded in record time, Fulliautomatix making it up last, pulling the ladder up behind him just as the Greeks made it to the base.

"Along the top! Go!"

At Fulliautomatix's command the Gauls started racing along the parapets, heading away from the closest ladder and toward the wall's furthest stretch. The Greeks were already headed toward it, and it would not be long before the were also up on the wall.

Vitalstitistix was doing fairly well, considering his girth and injury. His run was more of a waddle, slowed slightly, but still a pretty good pace. He obeyed Fulliautomatix without question, returning the blacksmith's help by assisting one of Fulliautomatix's children. The little girl gripped his hand tightly, her eyes constantly on her father even as she ran and was guided by the chieftain's hold. The same could be said for a lot of the Gauls. Frantic and frightened, they looked to the blacksmith for guidance, uncertainty in what was happening, but having faith that he would save them.

Again, the responsibility was crushing.

Fulliautomatix called them to a halt as the came to the end of the parapet. Here was as good a place as any. Cursing himself for not taking the ladder with them, the blacksmith peered down over the wall to the ground below. The snow was deep and soft, and the distance from the top of the wall to the ground was not dangerously far.

Oh, Toutatis, he hoped this worked.

Turning to Cacofonix, the blacksmith held out his hand. "You first!"

Before the bard even understood what his friend was planning, he found himself gripped firmly by the wrist and pulled up and over the wall's outer rim. For a moment, he panicked, a small cry of fear sounding from him before he realized what Fulliautomatix was doing. Hissing in a breath through his teeth, the bard gave the blacksmith a firm nod, before Fulliautomatix let go. Cacofonix fell, and the fall made his heart want to shudder to a dead stop, and then he was waist deep in snow. The cold prickled against his skin, even through the clothes, as the bard hurriedly, and rather shakily pulled himself up and out of the way.

"I-I'm good!" he called up, positioning himself at the wall's base. "Send the children!"

That had been exactly the blacksmith's plan. He knew that, though Cacofonix was not fairing as well as usual, the bard was the most coordinated among them. He had always been very nimble, sure of foot, and steady-handed. And that was what they needed to help ease the little ones as they too were carefully dropped. The bard caught the smallest ones, while the older children were able to manage just fine. The women went next, as other men besides Fulliautomatix began to follow the blacksmith's example. Then the men started over, the stronger helping the weaker. It was tricky with Vitalstitistix, with his injured arm making the action of holding and then dropping him rather painful, for all involved, but the deed was done, leaving only Fulliautomatix and Unhygienix on the wall.

The parapet began to vibrate, the thumping of heavy booted feet running towards them. Looking up fearfully, the two Gauls saw that the Greeks were almost upon them, not more than fifteen paces down the wall.

It was too late.

For one of them.

Without bothering to warn the fishmonger, Fulliautomatix grabbed a hold of the shorter, rounder man, hoisting him up and over the wall with a swinging motion. The fishmonger gave a gasp of surprise, opening his mouth to shout, but he was released and found himself chest deep in snow before he could. Struggling up with the hurried assistance of the others, the Gauls started backing away from the wall, eyes wide. Their hearts pounding, they waited as best they could, expecting Fulliautomatix to come vaulting over the side to join them at any moment.

But he didn't.

And the Gauls couldn't wait for him any longer than that.

* * *

Fulliautomatix had known he wouldn't be able to make the jump before the Greeks reached him. He had known, even as he grabbed Unhygienix and fairly threw the fishmonger over the side. He was only spared a moment to glance down and make sure his friend was unharmed, before the blunt end of a spear hit him hard in the stomach. The action took his breath away, and with a strangled yelp, Fulliautomatix lost his balance, falling backward off the parapets on the wrong side of the wall. He landed in the snow with a thud, stunned and heaving for breath. He weakly started trying to sit up, but again a spear appeared, resting warningly against his chest, and this time it was not the blunt end. The only reason the sharp point hadn't drawn any blood was the blacksmith's leather apron.

It was Achates standing over him; leering. The man was ugly, not in the physical sense, but rather in personality. It was as though, for all his health and stature, he were decaying from the inside out; a man made ugly by his hate. He was young, perhaps even younger than Asterix and Obelix. To have been twisted by evil at such a young age was...heartbreaking, and Fulliautomatix found it odd that of all the things he should worry about, that was the thought that bothered him most.

"You will pay dearly for your foolishness," Achates growled, pushing a little more weight of the spear into the prisoner's chest. "I'd hate to be you when Lycurgus-"

"Stand down!"

The command was unexpected, and even Fulliautomatix found himself turning his head to see Lycurgus hurrying toward them. His hands were raised, his authority rising off of him like a visible aura. He stopped just before Achates, his eyes fixed on the younger man's gaze even as he pointed to the weapon in Achates' hand.

"Stand down, there is no need for this. Lower your weapon, Achates."

The spear stayed where it was, pressing a little harder into Fulliautomatix's leather apron, a small prick of pain telling the blacksmith that the heavy cloth would no longer be able to protect him. Achates' face was screwed up in confusion, even with the sneer still visible beneath it. There was an uncomfortable pause, in which every Greek watched uncertainly. Achates had always been one to rebel against Lycurgus' orders. Lycurgus had never let him, the leader's anger and strength always being the thing to snap the young man back in his place. But now, Achates was armed, while Lycurgus was not. And that slow spreading smile that crept over Achates' face did little to calm anyone's nerves.

"What was that?" Achates growled, but it was an odd growl, filled with amusement. Like the purr of some great predator that had finally found weakness in its prey. "Has the great Lycurgus fallen to fear?" Fulliautomatix gave a gasp when the spear really and truly drew blood, if only a little beneath Achates' pressure. "Are you afraid to kill?"

Lycurgus tried to keep his voice steady and succeeded. Too long had he allowed himself to be disillusioned by his own fears. He would not let them do so again. "You know the answer to that, Achates," Lycurgus replied steadily. "I have killed many, in the Arena. I never hesitated; and I never flinched back. But the time has come to end this. I have seen what I have done; what I have become. I have fallen to my own, blinded beliefs and passions, and dragged you all down the same, dark path. It was wrong. _I_ was wrong." His gaze flitted to Fulliautomatix, then back to Achates. "There is no need for this," he said again.

Achates gave a cock of his head, before he threw it back with a long, resounding laugh. He lowered the spear to his side, leaving Fulliautomatix to rub away the sting the weapon had left. "Ha! Is this true?!" he shouted, his eyes falling over the other men of his people. "That Lycurgus, son of Taner, has lost his strength?! Has lost the fire for life that he has preached into use for so long a time?!" The spear raised again, now to point at Lycurgus accusingly. "You have guided us far, old man, but you cannot expect us to halt your plans now, just because you fear to continue!"

Some of the other Greek men muttered in agreement. They had all come too far, done too much to back down now. In their minds, Lycurgus' plan was still sound. The druid would return, and when he did they would force the secret of the Gauls' strength. They had no choice. To surrender and repent now would be their deaths. The Gauls would never forgive them, they would cast them all out into the snow to freeze. Their families; their children would die.

No, there was no going back.

Fulliautomatix struggled to his feet, legs still feeling a bit weak from his fall. His eyes were on Lycurgus, a mix of disbelief and wonderment in the man's sudden change of heart. How it had happened, and why, were of no importance. All that mattered was that the Gauls finally had someone on their side.

"There is no longer any point to this!" Lycurgus pleaded, but his plea was firm, not a beg. He gestured to the wall, where the villagers had fled, his gaze still fixed upon the gaze of the younger Greek. "Those that we held in bondage are gone. We have no leverage. Even if we did, I would no longer allow it." His voice dropped, his tone much lower as his eyes met Fulliautomatix's directly. "You were right, Gaul. I was so fixed upon the fear of being enslaved again, that I had become the very thing I feared. And led others to follow." He turned again. "Achates, this must end."

Achates remained motionless, taking in Lycurgus' stern face and tensed body. Then his eyes slid to sweep the other Greeks gathered. Each face was filled with uncertainty. Each face was filled with confusion. All they needed was someone to take the lead, and it didn't matter who, and they would follow. The two choices had been given, the challenger apparent. Achates was ready to take a position he had long since felt was his. With a move so fast he gave nothing away, Achates slammed his fist into Lycurgus' stomach, causing the older man to buckle, his legs giving out as Achates stood over him.

Fulliautomatix moved to intervene, but was held back by other Greeks who were standing behind him. Lycurgus was kneeling in the snow, hacking and shuddering in pain as he tried to gather a sufficient breath. A few droplets of red in the white of snow spoke of the damage that had been done. The blacksmith gave a growl, trying to break free of those who held him back.

Achates smiled down at the prone figure of his leader. "I am in charge now." He turned a murderous eye to the others, glaring with defiance. "I am he who holds the cords of our plan, now that Lycurgus is no longer able." He sneered down at Lycurgus, giving the man a final kick. "Take him and the Gaul and lock them up. And any man, woman, or child that defies me can join them."

* * *

Asterix frowned, distilling the panic in his heart. Energy was coursing through him with the desire to do something, anything, to protect the village that was his home. And he was willing to put anything, even his own wariness of Abbadon, aside. "What kind of solution?" he asked, looking right into the old woman's eyes. Those strange, deep, piercing eyes.

"You won't like it," the woman answered, actually turning away a bit. "You won't like it, but I see no other alternative."

That filled Asterix with a sense of dread, and he could see the same flash of hesitation cross both Getafix and Obelix's faces. But their eyes turned to him. Always him. It was his call; his discussion. That was part of why he had always made such a good warrior. He had always been able to make choices, easy and hard, and had a knack for always choosing what was right. But since Mastix, that natural ease for making a discussion in a heartbeat had been crippled, and Asterix found himself flinching beneath the weight of that fact.

Shaking his head slightly, as though to clear away the fearful haze, Asterix straightened his back and shoulders bravely. "Tell us your plan."

"There is a way that I can send you, in a blink of an eye, across the distance you have come. But it requires a great deal from you, Asterix, son of Astronomix."

Obelix looked clearly uncomfortable. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that he would need to give me access to that which he guards most of all; the light that lives within him."

Asterix refused to allow the urge to stumble back overcome him, but he still visibly blanched. His knees felt weak, and for the life of him he couldn't stop a slight tremble in his hands. He tried to hide it by clenching them into fists at his sides. "My soul light?"

Abbadon nodded. "It is the only power strong enough to complete the magic."

"But," Getafix interjected carefully, "a transportation such as you speak of has never been done. It's only a theory, in fact; and no one has ever actually proven it a possible spell. It could be...dangerous."

"Not for anyone but Asterix," the witch returned, agreeing with him completely. "Which is why I am only offering this as a choice. His choice, and no other's." She turned her eyes back toward the short, blond Gaul. "What say you, Warrior?" When Asterix did not answer, but instead stood silent, eyes staring vacantly at the floor at his feet and anxiously gnawing on his lip, Abbadon slowly moved to kneel in front of him. Though she made sure not to touch him.

"Do not fear making a choice, small one," she said gently. "For if we always fear that the choice we make is the wrong one, then we shall never choose at all. And choosing is essential in all things."

Asterix shifted uneasily, his eyes rising to meet hers. His voice was soft and uncertain. "I want to do what is right; what I know is right in my heart...but I...what if I...?" He fell silent once again.

Abbadon hummed a single note of understanding. Then, cocking her head a little to the left, she asked, "What _does_ your heart tell you?"

"...To do as you suggested."

"But you pause."

"Yes."

"Because you are afraid of making yourself carry more guilt?"

"...Yes...No." Asterix's face became shrouded in hesitation. "Because I...Yes. Yes, that is why."

"And has that ever stopped you in the past?"

"...No. Never."

Abbadon smiled. "Then why should this be any different? You are the same man now as you were then, Asterix. Trials and pains do not take away who we are, it forms who we are. You are no different than you were before Mastix, you are simply more. But getting used to that takes time." Her smile deepened. "But that is why we have friends to help us along. To remind us of before, so we can take it and merge it with the now. So, what does your heart tell you?"

Asterix clenched his fists tighter, a feeling of determination rising up his spine. "To go back and help my people. My friends."

"Will you allow me to use the power of the Solas Anam?"

"I will."

"Very good." Abbadon stood to her feet. "Then let us be off, before too much time has passed."

Getafix and Obelix, along with a still stunned Itylus, moved forward to join them. Though Getafix raised a brow at Abbadon's wording.

"Us?"

"Yes," the woman replied, brushing dust from the knees of her clothing. "I will be coming with you."

For whatever reason, the druid made no effort to argue. In fact, he was rather relieved. As uncomfortable as Abbadon's presence was, he would have no other person to follow this experimental spell through. If Asterix should suffer any ill effects, having the woman there, with her skill in magic far stronger than his own, Asterix's chances of walking away unharmed were far greater. And that was most certainly worth a little social difference.

"What do you need me to do?" Asterix asked, watching as the woman ushered the others to surround him. It was a little stifling, to be honest, but two out of four of the presences around him were ones he knew and loved. That made it a little more bearable.

"Just...relax," Abbadon soothed, once again kneeling in front of him. "I will be trying to find your source, and then try to access it. It may feel a little...odd. But do your best not to fight it. Once I begin, to be forced away may cause more harm than good. Do you understand?"

Asterix swallowed, nodding. He felt a withered, old hand lay gently on his shoulder, and knew that it was Getafix. It made Asterix realize just how tense he was, and he slowly forced his muscles to relax. Getafix's touch was calming, and Obelix, who was standing behind him very closely, had the same effect.

"This won't...hurt him? Like Mastix tried to.." Obelix trailed off. Mastix had tried to use Asterix's Solas Anam before, and it had almost killed his friend. He was afraid that the same might happen again.

Abbadon shook her head. "I am not taking his soul light; only channeling it. Though what effect it will have on him is uncertain."

"I want to do this," Asterix assured his friend. Now that he had made his choice, he was determined to follow it through. "We have to help the village. If something's gone wrong, their going to need us."

Obelix nodded slowly, bending to take Dogmatix up in the palm of his hand. "Alright. If you're sure."

"I'm sure." Asterix braced himself, and he looked to Abbadon, giving the woman silent permission to start.

Abbadon closed her eyes, concentrating as her hand moved slowly out from her side to rest against the short Gaul's chest. For a moment, Asterix felt nothing, and it was both a relief and a disappointment, until something deep within him gave a sudden spark. It startled him, and he jolted slightly. Abbadon seemed to react, pulling back a bit, though her fingers never left the front of his black tunic. And then she pressed on, and Asterix felt that familiar strength within him grow. It was slow, and wary, and he had forgotten just how it felt when he used it fully. Earlier he had felt it pulse out of panic; fear for his dearest, closest friend. But now it pulsed under someone else's calling, and the feeling was distinctly unpleasant.

Without meaning to, Asterix released a soft huff of discomfort.

"Hold still, brave one," Abbadon's voice commanded gently, with a hint of warning. Apparently, he had unintentionally tried to shift away from her, but Getafix had held him firm by griping his shoulder just a little bit tighter. "I am almost there. Do not fear."

But he did fear. He was full of fear. The feeling was prying, and pricking, despite the woman's obvious care to keep him from feeling uneasy. He could feel her magic running along his veins, and it was not all that unlike Mastix's invading magic; though significantly more careful. Asterix gave another small sound, steeling himself mentally and emotionally as he managed to keep himself still.

However, the feeling within him reminded him of something else as well. Another memory, and one that brought him back to a night he had nearly forgotten. It was a memory nestled deep in many memories, lost within the fear and doubt of those days that Mastix had them trapped in them own village. It was the first time he had realized something glowed within him. The first time all this Solas Anam business had happened; first come to light.

The Chief Venerable Druid had suspected, somehow. And he had done something similar to what Abbadon was doing now. It hadn't been this uncomfortable then. In fact, Asterix remembered it being pleasant, in its own way. Like being awash in warmth and light all at once. Like when the sun shines down on your back on a summer's day. It had surrounded him; gone through him.

The memory soothed his nerves. While this felt drastically different, Asterix realized it was because he expected it to be. He expected the pain and agony that Mastix had caused him, leaving all rational thought behind and giving into fear. Abbadon meant him no harm. She would not hurt him. And when he finally allowed himself that belief, Asterix felt Abbadon break through.

"That is it, very good, Asterix," her voice hummed, and he could no longer see her, having closed his eyes long since. But it made him relax further. "I am going to initiate the spell, alright? Ready? And...here we go."

Abbadon launched into a long string of quiet mumbling. It was a language Asterix did not understand, but he recognized as the same tone and rise that all druids used for magic, Getafix included. He felt the warmth in his chest suddenly grow to an intense degree, and he gasped slightly.

Abbadon herself gasped as well, under the full strength of Asterix's soul light. It mingled with her magic, strengthening it; fueling it. The amount of power behind it was intense, almost too much for her. But she grit her teeth and continued. Finally, when she felt she could no longer stand the hum of golden strength, Abbadon uttered a single word, loud and perfectly clear.

"Athrú!"*

The crescendo of light and magic increased once more in a flash, enveloping all within the room. And when the blinding glow diminished Abbadon's hut was no longer occupied. The four persons, and the little pup that had been there a second before, were gone. And there was nothing but the piles of objects spread messily about the room.

The spell, at least in its first stage, had worked.

* * *

 ***Athrú! - Irish for "Change!" - as in change from one place to another (hopefully). ;)**

 **Well, I'm done with community college! Will be moving on to a four year college in the fall. Exciting! I'm going for a degree in animation and stuff like that, though I actually realized I don't want to be an animator. I want to be a concept artist. In fact, I'm already getting jobs for it. I am now a concept artist for a video game company, and have designed a logo for an architecture/engineering/management company. :D I am very happy. But I am also thinking of maybe taking some classes on writing; something that Fanfiction has taught me to love a lot. ;)**

 **I am trying to finish this story before I go off to camp, like I do every year. I have gotten a position as a counselor again, which means I will be very busy for 6 weeks or so. I'll be gone from June 27th-August 8th, with maybe a little checking in on Saturday nights (when I'll be home). So, we'll see what I can do before then, yeah?**


	30. Will or Won't

**Wow. Just...wow. So sorry guys, but I really had some major writer's block there for a while. That, and I have not been too well. Spent some time in and out of the hospital. They thought I had a stroke, but come to find out I have something called Bell's Palsy. They gave me a bunch of medication, but then I had an allergic reaction. Then, on top of all that, I had an asthma attack at 4 in the morning and had to go to the hospital again. BUT, it's been a few weeks since then and I've been fine, so I should be out of the woods. :) Which means...IT'S TIME TO FINISH THIS STORY!**

 **I would like to thank my sister, Russianskipper74, for helping me out of my writing slump. Thanks sis!**

* * *

 _It was the strangest feeling in all the world, at least as far as Asterix knew. It was like being thrown and pulled, twisted and pushed, all at once; uncomfortable, but not quite painful. His stomach had dropped out from under him, or so it felt, making his head spin; and there was nothing to see before his eyes to help him orient himself. There was nothing but darkness. He wasn't even sure if his eyes were open, but that didn't matter. He had no wish for them to be._

 _The experience was difficult enough to bear just in and of itself, never mind that the energy within him was powering it; initiating a warmth in his chest that borderline burned. It was...an odd feeling. To feel one's strength being siphoned through another, like water running in and out of a jar, into another, and back again; and it was not exactly pleasant. Had Asterix not been determined to go through with it, he might have given in to the urge to call the whole thing off, as if that was at all possible. He might have had that hope tucked deep within him when they started, but now it all but choked into oblivion. If they stopped now, quick and rough, he would die. The strain he felt within him told him so._

 _Panic might have taken over, were it not for the warm presence of his friends that made him hang on. Though he couldn't see them, or hear them, he knew they were there; he could feel them, each one of them. They were like colors he could feel, all around him and brushing against his soul comfortingly. Itylus and Abbadon were a little more distant, but still supportive. Still encouraging and grounding. And he clung to their presence almost frantically, as though afraid to lose them._

 _The intensity of the discomfort was rising, and Asterix might have held his breath, if he hadn't already done so when they first began. Was he even breathing at all? He didn't seem to be; and yet he didn't seem to need to either. It was as though it were all passing in the wink of an eye; in the bat of an eyelash. As though, what felt like an eternity, was little more than a passing second on the scroll of time._

Just when the discomfort was starting to become unbearable, they broke the surface of the magic with a jolt, the cool air hitting them like a whip. It was a terrible shock, like two carts crashing when its horses were galloping at full speed. All motion became a halting standstill, so fast it knocked them off of their feet.

Falling to their knees, Abbadon, Obelix, Getafix, and Itylus found themselves kneeling in cold snow, coughing as though they had risen from the depths of the very sea itself. Their skin was tingling, like insects were crawling all up and down them, and steam rose from them, causing the snow to sizzle. Disoriented and startled by the intensity of the magic, even Abbadon seemed drained and shaken, taking a moment to brace herself against the ground, panting. But it was Asterix that her mind was instantly drawn to inspect.

The short Gaul was shaking the most of the five of them, with maybe only the exception of little Dogmatix, who was shivering within the safety of his master's hands. Asterix had landed harder than all of them, falling headlong rather than to his knees. He was gasping for breath like a man who had been trapped beneath water for far too long, and his skin held a disturbing pale quality. But, despite his body's obvious distress, the little man tried to stand almost immediately. Just as quickly, he learned that he could not. His legs felt useless, his muscles sore to an agonizing extent, and if not for the use of his arms he might have stayed completely as he was, face first and prone in the snow.

"Warrior?" Abbadon was kneeling beside him, her hands running along his arms and back as though expecting injury. She assisted in sitting him up, though he did so very shakily. "Do you fair well? Are you alright?"

Her tone of voice indicated that she doubted very strongly that he was. She seemed startled by the whole thing, and Asterix couldn't help thinking how funny it was; that those who practiced magic, no matter how in control they believed or appeared to be, were not; and were just as much helpless to its whim as anyone else.

Asterix winced, a hand pressing to his aching chest as he blinked away the haze from his eyes. The snow's blaring white was confusing and painful, hurting his eyes after the darkness of Abbadon's hut. But, even now, the pain was leaving him; fading away to become a dull ache and throb all through him, centered in his chest. As far as he could tell, no permanent damage had been done, and, besides a little soreness, he was sure he would be alright.

"I...I'm f-fine." He gave her a faint smile, using his shaking arms, or one at the least, to push himself up a little straighter. It was difficult with his broken arm. "Just need t-to...catch my b-breath." He illustrated his words with a deep inhale, almost choking on the cold air around them.

"I recognize this part of the forest," Getafix spoke up, unsteadily getting to his own two legs and stumbling over to assist Asterix as well. He gracelessly knelt down beside the Gaul, helping to check him over and sit him up. "We're only a short distance from the village."

Obelix was also getting to his feet. He was far steadier than the others, but was still distinctly paler. He had tumbled, as had the others, though he had not lost his balance completely. He gently pet his large fingers over Dogmatix's back, checking the pup over in his palm to make sure he was alright. Itylus, beside him, was also only slightly more durable to the shock of their journey.

"That was...that was amazing," the Greek faltered, gasping and panting. His gaze was fixed on Asterix, a mix of fear, awe, and something akin to disbelief in his eyes. "That was...simply amazing!"

Abbadon nodded in agreement, giving Asterix a rather proud expression. "It was indeed."

Asterix responded only with the weakest of smiles, still far too unfocused for his own liking. He kept pushing against his friend's hold to try and get to his feet, but Getafix was somehow accomplishing the miricle of supporting him and holding him down all at once.

"Asterix," he commanded in a worried hiss. "You need to sit still a moment. This is no small matter to brush off like you would a bruise or scratch. This is a matter of your _soul light_."

The Gaul fairly ignored the command, continuing his weak struggle with little success. "W-Why are we so off? I was f-focusing everything I could on the _village_. We should b-be there." He had a gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach that it was somehow his fault; that he simply hadn't been strong enough. No surprise there.

Abbadon sounded almost apologetic as she answered. "That is no fault of yours, but my own. I was not as disciplined in my magic as I had thought...Your soul is...beyond any strength I have ever witnessed. It is no wonder that Mastix coveted it above even the power of your druid's potion."

The three Gauls winced at her words, but Getafix couldn't help the smile that spread across his face immediately after. "I think that you would find that all those residing in our village are of equal note. They are the strongest, most noble-hearted people I have ever known."

"I have no doubt." Abbadon smiled gently, laying a hand on Asterix's back. "Breathe deeply. The more upset you become, the longer it will take to wear off."

Asterix shook his head, more to clear it than in answer. "Can't. We...We have to find the villagers. We have to make sure they're safe."

"And we will. As soon as you can stand."

Taking that as permission to try again, Asterix caught Getafix by surprise as he finally managed to push himself up using the druid's arms as support.

"Asterix, what did we just-"

"I'm a warrior," the blond Gaul retorted quickly. "It's both my job and my pleasure to put others' needs before my own. Please stop trying to protect _me_ , and help me protect _them_."

Getafix opened his mouth as though to argue, before he closed it again with an almost audible snap. His gaze gleamed with a mix of sorrowful understanding and prideful fondness. He shook his head, the motion slight and barely noticeable. "Very well."

"Which way is it to the village?" Obelix pipped up, coming forward to steady his much smaller friend with one of his rough, stone-worn hands. "With all the white, it's hard to tell which way is which."

Asterix gratefully accepted his larger friend's physical support. It seemed to ease some of his distress. Pointing rather shakily to their right, the blond Gaul voiced his thoughts. "I've patrolled out this way in winter often. If we continue on in that direction, we should come across our gates within the hour."

Dogmatix gave a bark of agreement.

"And if we find the village under Lycurgus' rule?" Itylus spoke up, almost reluctantly.

"Than we'll deal with it then," Asterix answered distractedly.

Getafix joined Obelix's side, a hand held out at the ready should Asterix slip. "Can you walk?"

"I will walk."

"Asterix, I-"

"I _will_ walk."

The druid frowned. There was a great deal of difference between being able to walk and willing oneself to walk. He was distressed by Asterix's blatant admittance of the later. But there was little that could be done. At least, not until Asterix's sense of pride became less than the strength he still possessed. And that was not a preferable option.

"I'll be fine, Getafix."

The druid nodded, swallowing against the cold and unease that surrounded him. He would have liked to have said a lot of things, but under his younger friend's courage and anxiety, there was really only one answer he felt he could give. "Alright. Just be careful."

Asterix smiled, a bit of his old, rueful nature returning. "When am I not?"

The walk was more of a desperate journey. Each step was difficult and arduous, like a dream where every move forward felt like three moves back. Like they weren't getting anywhere. But the endless blanket of white and limitless backdrop of bare trees might have had something to do with that. The cold was brutal, though not unbearable. As they walked, they left little puffs of breathe trailing behind them, like the lines of footprints they left in the snow itself. Only their footsteps didn't disappear so quickly.

Asterix led the way, silent and determined. Obelix and Getafix stayed right behind him, watching for any signs that Asterix was in any danger or pain. The druid was still not convinced that the Gaul had suffered no ill from the transferring of his powers through Abbadon. The woman herself seemed rather weak, falling behind by several steps, though she managed to keep that distance and did not fall behind any further.

Itylus took up the rear, his sword drawn, guarding their backs. It had become a habit by now, and, had someone told him he would have been doing such a thing a few days before, the Greek lad would have laughed in scorn. But now, by some turn of events Itylus could not fathom, he had grown accustomed to the Gauls and their ways. More than that, he had become accustomed to _them_. He _liked_ them. He considered them his...his friends. And that was something he knew Lycurgus would not stand for.

He had to protect himself. And those who he now cared for as much as his own life.

"How much further?" the Greek called to the front of the group. The longer the remained in the forest, the more uneasy he became.

"Not much now," Asterix called back. His voice was stronger now, and most signs of exhaustion and unsteadiness had faded away. He was almost back to normal, other than the way he continually kept a hand pressed firmly against his chest. As though an ache resided there. "Another few paths should-"

"Asterix!"

The voice rang out like shattered glass in the quiet, and the travelers came to an immediate halt. The echo resounded around them, making it hard to determine from where the shout had come. They all stood stock still; Getafix and Itylus tense, while Obelix and Abbadon just seemed curious; Dogmatix whining softly in his master's palm. Asterix was impossible to read. He seemed to be both alert and relaxed, as though he already recognized the voice and was merely trying to pinpoint it.

There was silence in the forest once more for several, long seconds, before the shout rang out again.

"Asterix! Getafix! Obelix!"

Asterix spun to face the left, eyes wide and his feet taking four, anxious steps forward. "Soporifix?" Then louder. "Soporifix?!"

"Here!"

The three Gauls turned sharply, followed by Abbadon and Itylus, squinting through the white haze of snow and the picket backdrop of bare, black tree trunks. It took a moment of searching back and forth with their eyes, but a moment later a figure was easily readable, and coming toward them at a run.

It was indeed Soporifix.

The older man was huffing and puffing, little clouds of air drifting around him as he came to a stop before the group, leaning forward to gasp for breath while he braced against his own knees. "I can't...believe I found you...We thought...you'd still be far gone from here!" he panted between breathes before he rose, clutching to hold Asterix's hands in a tight grip. "A-Asterix...the village has been taken!"

The Gaulish warrior could not hold the panic that welled in him hidden. "Where are the others?" he asked urgently, his grip tightening around the older man's to the point where Soporifix winced.

"In one of the caves...a little further that way...It's one of the ones stocked...with Getafix's provisions." He nodded to the druid, as though for affirmation, still panting for air.

Getafix gave a sigh of relief, running a hand through his whitened hair. "You all made it away then." Losing the village to anyone was bad. But a village, however difficult, could be replaced. The villagers themselves could not be. Lives were far more important than livelihoods and homes. However, Soporifix's crestfallen expression at his words made Getafix's heart sink.

"Well, um...not _all_ of us," Soporifix mumbled. His eyes cast to the snowy ground, a look of worried anxiety overtaking his expression to an even greater extent. "Fulliautomatix; he...he didn't make it out in time. We haven't seen or heard anything of him since we escaped."

Asterix removed his helmet from his head, running a hand through his blond hair in worried agitation, similar to the druid's own motion a moment before. That was very bad news. Hostage situations were always the worst kind, experience had told him that much. If Fulliautomatix was indeed still in enemy hands, they were in for a very tense and dangerous confrontation. One that not only put them in the underhand side, but also put the blacksmith's life in danger.

The warrior gulped down his nerves, trying to clear his mind of the panicked loops that threatened to cycle. "Alright. Lead us to the others. We'll...We'll figure out something." His gaze hardened. "I promise."

* * *

"Chief Vitalstitistix! What happened?!"

Asterix's cry of surprise and anxiety flooded the small cavern loudly, and many of the Gauls flinched at its volume. They had expected as much really, but it was still so very unpleasant to hear panic in a voice that was usually so full of calm.

Soporifix had led the travelers through the frigid snow, all the way to a small, discreet cave that Getafix recognized as the one he, Asterix, and Itylus had stayed in at the beginning of their journey. It was far more crowded now, occupied by the village's population, but it wasn't claustrophobic. In fact, their combined body heat made the place quite comfortable, with the addition of a few fires crackling away by the entrance.

Asterix, immediately after stepping from snow to stone, went into warrior mode. At least, the worrying, business aspect of that duty that befell him when situations were at their darkest. He asked questions, even as he was flooded by relieved Gauls, all thanking Toutatis that he, Getafix, and Obelix had returned.

There had been some hesitation about Itylus, but at Asterix's insistence, the matter was dropped.

The blond Gaul's echoing shout of distress had been prompted when he turned to greet his chieftain, only to see the blood stained bandage wrapped around Vitalstitistix's arm. The sight was like a flash of red across his vision, proving and driving home the fact that his people had endured much in his absence. It scared him; frightened him more than he could express. It made him want to check each of his friends over, make sure they were all alright; that they were all _there_.

Vitalstitistix tried to smooth the whole situation over, jolting at Asterix's exclamation before making a calming gesture with his good arm. He gave Asterix as sincere a smile as he could manage without grimicing. "Asterix, it's alright. No harm done."

Beside the chieftain, tending Vitalstitistix's arm, Getafix gave a snort of derision. He had gone to work on the wound immediately, muttering curses of the possibilities of uncleanliness and disease. "There might be plenty of harm done if this has become infected," he hissed, eyes dark with an anger he rarely felt. "The fiend just about slashed your arm clean off!"

Impedimenta flinched visibly beside him at his words, and the druid's face softened in apology.

"I am sorry," he began, emotion still very much in his tone. "I am just so...so very troubled by all that has happened."

Getafix finished unwrapping the dressing, mentally wincing at the sight of the irritated gash cut into his friend's flesh. It was red, and wet, the blood fresh and mixed with clear liquid. The druid frowned, carefully tracing a hand along Vitalstitistix's arm, just under the angry looking slash. He sympathized when the chieftain blanched. But it was good news that he saw. While the wound was indeed deep, and certainly very painful, it was not infected.

"I'll redress this," the druid informed softly, already reaching for his satchel. He was now even more grateful of the supplies he had brought with him on their journey. "It should heal, though it will not do so quickly. And there will certainly be a scar."

To be honest, Vitalstitistix didn't care. He had assumed the wound had been infected, and that he would either die or lose the limb entirely. So, to be told that the worst of his worries was scarring, he was very much relieved.

"It all happened so fast," Vitalstitistix muttered lowly, wincing as Getafix began the process of re-bandaging his arm. "And it was so organized. We- _unh!_ Easy now...We didn't have a chance to even defend ourselves before we were all rounded up and taken." His eyes landed on Itylus, narrowing in a mix of distrust and anger. The Greek merely dipped his head in silent apology. He had nothing more to give.

Asterix stood from where he had been crouching by the fire. His own limbs, which had been very cold and stiff when they arrived, were now warm and restless. Within minutes, he was pacing. "This is all so messed up. Why can't people leave us all well and alone?" It wasn't a question he expected an answer too, but a voice answered it nonetheless.

"Because, wherever good prevails, a darkness is sure to try its very best to smother it out."

Asterix turned with a start, blinking, to face Abbadon. In his growing agitation, with seeing Vitalstitistix's injury, he had almost forgotten the old woman's presence. She had not spoken since their arrival, seeming almost like a ghost in that no one seemed to notice her. She had sidled herself into a corner of the cave's dark walls, half hidden in the shadows, silent and watching. She shook her head, almost in a pitying manner.

"But the good in this would is not so easily destroyed."

The blond Gaul blinked again, all emotion gone for a moment before it was replaced by frustration. His gaze flickered to his people, seeing their frightened eyes and their chieftain's bandaged arm. "No, maybe not. But good, at times, seems awfully easy to cripple."

Abbadon's face broke into a strange smile, like a teacher might give a clever pupil. "At first, perhaps. But it is like a young snake. Coiled and small, it is easy to beat with a stick; but once it has unfurled itself, and gathered its strength, its bite is just as poisonous as a full grown serpent." She nodded. "Especially when it is crippled. For there is nothing quite so dangerous as an injured beast."

"So, you think we should go ahead and fight back?" Asterix's tone was hard and to the point.

The old women cocked her head. "It does not matter what I think. I am not of your village, nor was it I who was hurt." She watched as the Gaulish warrior's frown deepened. "The choice is yours. What is it your heart tells you to do."

"We _could_ fight," Cacofonix spoke up uncertainly. He looked frailer than normal, as though he had been sick recently. The bard's eyes, which were not as clear as they should have been, slowly shifted to look up at Obelix. "We didn't have the Magic Potion. If we had, it would have been easy. Now that we have Obelix, shouldn't it be easy again?"

"I have no doubts about that," Getafix spoke up, tying of the last strip of linen on Votalstitistix's arm. "It is no longer a question of strength or power, but of speed and success. Bashing the Greeks is all well and fine, but if we cannot reach Fulliautomatix in time..." His eyes drifted to Mrs. Fulliautomatix, who was watching him nervously. "...Well, let us just say there would be very little point."

Mrs. Fulliautomatix closed her mouth, lips forming a straight line as her hold on her children tightened.

"Lycurgus is a man of calculated moves and decisions," Itylus offered, flinching when every Gaulish eye turned upon him, many with skepticism. "But he cannot possibly know that Obelix has returned. We have an advantage."

Vitalstitistix grunted softly as he struggled back to his feet. He waved off Getafix's protest and gave the young Greek a hard stare. "We don't even know if we can trust you," he hissed angrily. "You're partially the reason Obelix left in the first place."

Itylus returned the gaze steadily, before dropping it to close his eyes tightly, head bowed. "I know. And for that...There is nothing I can do to make it right."

"Nonsense."

Every eye turned to Getafix, who was looking decidedly determined.

"There is no mistake deemed unforgivable. Consequences may still come, and the past is still a reality; but it is in the past. Change happens. People change. You, Itylus, have changed." The druid nodded decisively. "You can make this right."

The Greek shivered, though not from cold. "How?"

"By helping us get our home back," Asterix interjected. "We have no intention of hurting your people, beside a well deserved taste of our fists. What you all have done is wrong, but that doesn't mean it can't all be fixed back to the way things were before." Asterix held out a hand. "Will you help us?"

Itylus gazed down at the offered hand with a sense of uneasiness. Betrayal was not something to be taken likely; then again, was it betrayal if what one was doing was truly right? Perhaps. It depended on who's view an account came from. The Gauls would think him a friend, and a brave of at that. But Lycurgus...Lycurgus would see it as treason.

Again, though; had he not already done so by telling the Gauls of his master's plan, late as it was?

The Greek internally moaned at the confusion that swirled in his mind. His culture and life told him one thing, but his conscience and soul told him another. It was a struggle, both so close in strength that he could not tell which was truth and which was lie. But it turned out the truth was stronger. Reaching out his hand, he gripped Asterix's firmly, giving it a sharp, determined shake.

"Tell me what I must do."


	31. Unforgiving Grief

**Oh dear, it's been so VERY long since I wrote and uploaded a chapter for this! I just needed to step back and re-evaluate were I was going with it. I was actually kind of stumped, with some major writer's block not helping in the least. As some of you may know, I work on a ton of things simultaneously, so I ended up putting this on the back burner for a while. But, as you can see, I'm finally moving forward again. I will finish this. When? We shall see. ;)**

* * *

"I knew I'd make a mistake."

Fulliautomatix's voice was filled with despair and self directed malice. It was a tone that he rarely had, but that had become more and more common in the past several days. He paced the four or five steps of his new prison; one of the small storage huts on the far side of the village. It was dark and stuffy, despite it being the dead of winter; though the cold air still managed to leak in through the hairline cracks between the oak boards. All the blacksmith cold see was the dark silhouettes of his two, fellow prisoners, one of whose company he resented with a passion. But, somehow, he could only find the energy to direct his anger at himself. Fulliautomatix could feel a draining sort of exhaustion that only comes with the needling, pricking, nudging sensation of defeat. When one is still standing against it, but is slowly losing ground. The cause seemed hopeless now; almost nonexistent in some far off, other-worldly horizon. And the crushing pressure of despair was beginning to take its toll.

"I knew I'd mess up, and I knew I'd make a mistake and make everything worse. I don't know why I ever thought I could do anything to help..."

Agafya watched the Gaul with pity, her heart feeling his frustration almost as strongly as if it were her own. She stood, pressed against her husband's chest as he rubbed calming circles in her back. His hands were cold, even through the material of her dress, attesting to the fact that strength could do little against the natural forces of winter air. It was so dark, nothing but shadows and silhouettes, with white and blue flashes of the outdoors through the faults in the walls. It was very crowded, even with just the three of them; the space occupied with all manner of baskets and casks. Her hand had trembled against what felt like a barrel of apples. At least they wouldn't starve.

Not that any of them felt like eating.

Fulliautomatix finally paused in his wandering back and forth, his knees feeling weak and stiff. He lifted a hand to pinch the bridge of his prominent nose, squinting his eyes shut against a fierce stomach was very empty, and yet he had no desire whatsoever to take care of it. In fact, he didn't have much motivation to do anything. With a broken sigh, the blacksmith pressed his back against the nearest wall, sliding down until he was sitting. He had chosen the corner farthest from his fellow inmates.

Agafya frowned to herself, reading the Gaul's mood by what she could hear, rather than what she could see. Distressed by the blacksmith's muttered words, the woman reached out a careful hand, guiding herself out of Lycurgus' hold and feeling her way along until her fingers brushed against a bare arm. A very warm bare arm; as though the skin were under some kind of fever. Her heart sunk at the realization that yet another innocent person had fallen ill under her peoples' careless acts.

Fulliautomatix flinched at her touch, which, in all honesty, she expected; but she persisted, coming to crouch beside him in the dark. "You have made no mistakes," she said gently, her hold on his shoulder firm.

Fulliautomatix released something resembling a breathy laugh, only it held no humor. He pulled away gently, as though his anger was not directed at her. Which it wasn't. Fulliautomatix knew that association in some cases, did not always mean guilty. He knew that, deep down, the Greek woman beside him was just as torn, and frightened, and hurt as he was. Maybe more so. But he could not contain all of his anger. His voice rose in frustrated despair.

"How can you say that?!" he snapped, directing his hatred to the walls and ceiling of their prison rather than the people within it. "I've made a mess of this ever since you came through our gates! We should have locked our doors and left you all out in the snow! We should have just left well enough alone and minded our own business!...I should have known better...I should have tried harder." His eyes rose to the larger shadow he knew to be Lycurgus, the anger diminishing into something more injured. "They...they trusted me to get them out...I...I tried to...But what could I do? Our lives were barely holding steady as it was, before you came and...and..." His tone dropped, sounding all at once very small and helpless; strained. "...We've been through so much... _By Toutatis_...what have we done to deserve this...?"

Neither Lycurgus nor Agafya said a word, instead only being filled with a sudden guilt that smashed all feelings of that emotion that they had had before. Even Lycurgus. The Greek felt his throat tighten at the blacksmith's words, realizing with a sense of horror that, just a few short days ago, such words would have meant nothing. He had done terrible deeds. Deeds that most men would have crumbled under. He had been cruel to the frail, the weak, and young, and they old; with no regret because he had believed it to be for the greater good. And now, with a pounding heart, he could see more clearly than ever what he truly had done. What he truly had been. Everything he had felt was right was all at once wrong... _So_ wrong. How could he have ever thought any different? What was right about being deceitful? What was right about taking someone's freedom away? Threatening them. Hurting them. Filling them with fear. Lycurgus had seen it as necessary, but was it? Was it _truly?_

No, he realized. No, it was not.

He had realized that in the Chieftain's hut, with Agafya clinging to his front as they embraced in a hold that was far, far overdue. But, only now, at the pure hopelessness in the blacksmith's voice, did he realize the extent of damage his 'beliefs' had caused. The Gauls had been happy. They had been safe. The only standing Gaulish village against Caesar and his reaching hold on the world; and that took a lot more strength than he had given them credit for. He had allowed that to be stripped from them. He had allowed his own wants and desires to rob them of their needs. Of other persons' needs.

How selfish. How selfish of him, when they who he had oppressed were so selfless.

 _He had become his own worse enemy._ Just as Fulliautomatix had told him, back when this had all started. And, the more the words echoed in his mind, the more they rang true. He was a monster; to have thought that what he was doing was within reason or right. He had been blinded by a hope that was not meant to be his; at least not in this way. But he had forced it. He had grabbed it for his own. Heartlessly. Mercilessly. And he had hurt so many in the process. Well, _enough_.

"Enough." Lycurgus stepped forward, coming to stand just behind his wife so that he loomed like a threatening shadow over them. Moving her gently to the side, he took her place at the blacksmith's side, his motions slow so as not to frighten the Gaul to fight. He reached out, placing a hand on the blacksmith's shoulder. He retracted it when Fulliautomatix fairly jolted away from his touch. Undeterred, the Greek continued.

"That is enough. If there is anyone who has made a mistake, it is I."

Fulliautomatix's voice was now pitched in heightened anger, mixed with audible fear. "Do you know what we've been through?!" he demanded, his tone hissing and sharp. "Do you have any idea the _hurt_ , and _pain_ we've been through this past year?! Even before you got here?!"

Lycurgus straightened his stance, his hand returning to his side stiffly. He looked very much like a man who has been slapped, though there was no anger in his reaction. He was more accepting than anything, as though he understood Fulliautomatix's anger and thought it perfectly righteous. It was more of the type of expression that might come over one's face when great guilt or anxiety has suddenly blossomed into full realization, but that it is acknowledged that it is completely called for. Lycurgus' answer was small, but encouraging; drawing out more from the hurt soul before him.

"I am sorry to say, that I do not."

"Do you have any idea what it's like to be the last of your people standing against a world that's out to get you?! Do you?!" Fulliautomatix bellowed, turning away sharply, his strong hand scratching rather helplessly at the wall as he shifted, more out of frustration than of any actual hope of it doing any good. The action only served to scrape at the tips of his fingers, causing them to sting in the cold. "To have no hope...because you've held on to the only scrap of it you could so long that it wore thin?...It's...It's like it isn't even worth trying anymore...even when you know you have to..."

Fulliautomatix's voice trailed off miserably, fading into the black, cold darkness around them.

Lycurgus felt his heart falter even more. The words hit him, and hit him hard, and he could almost feel his mind stumbling, because he _did_ understand. He did. "That... is something I can understand...It is a feeling of hopelessness and...and despair and desperation that...that no man should face. And yet, in my blindness, I handed out the same cruelty that my masters gave to me. With no remorse, or fear of consequence..." He paused, deep in thought. "I...am sorry. I know that that is hardly enough to cover my sins, but it is all I have to give. I am a foolish, foolish man. i put the lives of my people above the lives of others, and that was wrong...I...I do not know what to say besides that I am deeply sorry..."

Lycurgus' voice was weak and frail, something that it had never been before then. It was as though, in the course of a day, or a few short hours, all the arrogance and strength had been sucked out of him, leaving only a hallow husk of a man; burdened by the deeds of the near past, and the possible future.

Fulliautomatix merely pressed his back harder against the wall, looking down at the floor with a withering frown. But all the true rage seemed to have drained away, leaving his shoulders to slump and his head to bow, like a puppet whose strings have been cut. "How?" he asked brokenly. "How could you possibly understand what this is like...?"

Lycurgus stepped closer, making sure the Gaul had his complete attention, even if eye contact was impossible. "Me and my followers are the last of our village. Just as you and your people are the last of the free, Gaulish tribes. Taken from our homes, I watched as many were lost to the Romans' cruel games. I was filled with hate, and anger; and a thirst for revenge because of that hate. I escaped with those who were left and came here, not realizing that...that you were right."

After several long moments of silence, Fulliautomatix sent the man a piercing glare. His voice became wary, as though expecting some sort of trap. "...Right about what?"

"About me. About what I was becoming. I am now just as guilty as those who once oppressed my people. I was willing to take what I wanted, with no thought to the hurt I was causing. I was willing to hurt. I was willing to take. By Ares, I was even willing to kill for the freedom and safety I wanted for my people..."

"That does not make it right."

"No. No, I see that now." Lycurgus looked down at his hands as though they were soiled, despite the fact that he could not actually see them in the dark. "And the pain I have caused will haunt me...for as long as I live. I wonder...just how many men of leadership have ever come to this. How many have realized that the truths for which they were fighting were little more than...lies."

The Greek looked up, meeting where he imagined Fulliautomatix's eyes to be. "And there is nothing that I can say to make things right. I would beg for forgiveness, but I feel I do not deserve something of kindness from people I know would be so willing to give it."

Fulliautomatix's eyes hardened. He pointed a finger at Lycurgus' face; or where he thought it was. "You would have killed Obelix. Deny it. Deny it to me that you would have killed him."

Lycurgus' gaze lowered. "I cannot."

"Than neither can I forgive."

Agafya felt a lump form in her throat. She wanted to intervene; to say something, but it was not hers to say. She could no more atone for her husband's sins than she could extent Fulliautomatix's forgiveness. It made her feel helpless and weak. As though her hands were pressed up against some invisible barrier. Impassable. Impenetrable. Uncrossable. And she was utterly powerless to do anything about it.

Lycurgus merely nodded; slow, weak, and full of grief. "And I do not blame you in the least."

* * *

"I don't like this plan."

Obelix's voice was deep and low, a scowl on his face only adding to his statement. His hands fidgeted, feeling empty and useless without Dogmatix nestled in his palms. But the outdoors in this kind of weather was not for creatures as small and delicate as the pup. Not to mention that, with the increase in snowfall within the last hour, the drifts of white had become far too deep for Dogmatix to navigate. He'd probably have gotten lost from sight before they were even three feet from the cave. Impedimenta had promised to watch over him while the menfolk rallied out into the chilly night, and that was comforting to a degree. After having gone off on a journey, one without Asteric or Dogmatix, had instilled a need in Obelix to be around them now, and he hadn't even realized it until they had shown up at Abbadon's cottage. And now, stripped of Dogmatix's company, Asterix was asking that he let go of his closest friend as well. And Obelix nearly felt sick at just the thought.

They were out in the woods, all of the Gaulish men who were not too ill or injured to participate in what had to be done. Vitalstitistix had wanted to come, going so far as to rise to his weak legs before his wife and Getafix had made short order of that argument. Cacofonix too had been left behind, his weakened state too much of a risk, along with a very frustrated Geriatrix. But for what they needed to do, they couldn't be looking after those who were not currently at their best. Doing so would only invite pain and grief. Asterix knew he would never be able to forgive himself if he had allowed them to come and they had fallen because of his stupidity. Only the strongest were going to be able to pull this off, and so Asterix had allowed only the strongest to attend.

In the forest, just out of the village's range of sight, the group converged, preparing the last part of Asterix's plan that needed to be put into effect. Though, they were all in equal agreement with Obelix as far as not liking it. As Itylus securely bound their warrior's hands behind his back, they felt an uneasy feeling creep up their spines. A feeling of dread that, unfortunately, they had all come to be far too familiar with of late.

Asterix sighed in a tired fashion, though not belittling by any means. Wincing slightly as he held his wrists firmly behind his back and willed them to still, he allowed Itylus to secure a strong and tight knot of fabric around them. While the action was completely willing on his part, Asterix couldn't help but feel a wave of uncomfortable vulnerability shiver through him as he felt the bindings tighten into place.

"I know you don't like it," the blond Gaul intoned to his friend, his voice reflecting both soft annoyance, courage, and a soothing sense of understanding. He wasn't necessarily any more fond of his own plan than any of his companions, but what had to be done had to be done. "But we haven't got any other plan that'll work. We need to get inside the village. The Greeks don't know that Itylus is on our side. We've got to use it to our advantage, before things grow even more complicated."

"...But no one get's hurt, correct?" Itylus asked carefully, his voice almost a whisper at Asterix back as he finished off the knot and stood slowly to his feet. "I don't want to lose anyone this day, whether their deeds warrant it or not."

Asterix turned to face the taller man, subtly testing the makeshift rope that now left him without the use of his arms. The bindings were rather snug, and Asterix wasn't sure whether he should be satisfied or worried by the fact that, even when he really tried, he couldn't wiggle his wrists free.

"You have my word," he said firmly. "No Gaul of our company will harm your people other than a few bruises." He cast his gaze to his fellow countrymen, as though searching them for any disagreement.

Normally, he wouldn't have bothered; he trusted the villagers with his life when it came to being kind-hearted and civil in the ways of battle. In fact, there were very few of them who had ever even been in the situation of battle where they had had no choice but to kill or be killed. But Asterix had heard their accounts of what had happened since he and Getafix had left to find Obelix. He had heard the fear, the pain, the rage in their voices, and he knew that the order to be merciful would not be as easy to follow as it once had. As his gaze fell over them, some flinched, lowering their eyes. Asterix silently prayed that he had spoken truly, and that no true harm would be delt the Greeks at a Gaul's hand.

It was going to be difficult to keep that promise. What with the Gauls having no Magic Potion, and Getafix having no way to currently make any in time. They were on their own, with nothing but sticks and a few makeshift weapons. Child's toys in most peoples' eyes. That was why Asterix's plan focused on strategy, rather than assault. They wouldn't stand a chance otherwise.

Getafix had come along, though it was an unspoken understanding that he wouldn't be fighting. He merely provided an atmosphere of comfort and strength. It had once been said that those with a druid on their side was invincible, and the Gauls, whether they realized it or not, had come to accept the saying as fact. But the truth was, without his potions, and armed with nothing more than a few memorized spells, Getafix was little more than an ordinary man with a few tricks up his white fabric sleeves. His presence, however, gave them courage, and for Getafix, if that was all he could give, would give it wholeheartedly.

The druid knelt beside the Village Warrior, showing him the small dagger, no larger than six inches long. Getafix displayed it in his palms, almost as though presenting it before royalty as he kept his gaze locked with Asterix's own.

"This blade is unique in size," he confided slowly, smiling a little at the end. "Much like you." He slipped it into a small sheath that he secured beneath Afterix's tunic, on the side, so that bending over would not pierce him. "The Greeks will search you, but they will not find it. Long before this whole mess started, I secured its ability to remain hidden by magic. If you have need of it, use it."

Asterix shifted to the best of his ability in his bonds, surprised that he couldn't even feel the weapon beneath his clothes. He gave the druid a wry smile. "You haven't been carrying this around ll this time, have you?"

"Of course not," the bearded man countered gravely, though a twinkle of amusement still lingered in his gaze. "I found it in the cave amongst my meager supplies. Luck has not been our companion of late, but it seems it still smiles upon us in some respect." His smile faded as he reached out and laid a hand on the short Gaul's shoulder. "Be careful, Asterix."

Asterix nodded, turning to look up at Obelix. His voice held a tone of firm command and determination. "Obelix, you remember your part?"

The large Gaul nodded with a frown, still upset over the course of events. "I wait for the signal. Once that happens, I break down the gates and we all charge in."

"Right. Good. And what warning did I give?"

Obelix felt his frustration grow at Asterix's insistence, but answered anyway. "That I mustn't make a move until then. Not even a moment before." He nearly jolted when he felt a cold shoulder push feather light against his wrist. He looked down, having not even realized that, until that point, he hadn't even been looking his friend in the eyes.

Asterix's gaze was caring and apologetic as he leaned, creating the only form of contact he could manage at the moment. "Thank you, Obelix."

The menhir deliveryman opened and shut his mouth several times, before giving an appreciative nod.

Asterix was still painfully aware that Obelix was still not himself. He seemed distracted, and not nearly as cheerful about the coming fight as he should have been. Deep down, Asterix knew that it had to do with Lycurgus' hurtful words. Obelix was still wounded by doubt and uncertainty, and the blond Gaul wanted nothing more than to allay those feelings and get his old friend back, but now left very little time for that. Things would have to be worked out later, and they just had to hope that the situation wouldn't worsen in the meantime.

"Obelix is right," Asterix raised his voice, including all present in the conversation. "Don't try anything until you see the signal. That will mean that I've succeeded in freeing Fulliautomatix. If you attack before then, Lycurgus could have him killed long before we ever reached him. With no hostage, the danger will be gone, and we'll be able to force them out. As the only one of us effected by the Magic Potion, let Obelix lead in the fight. Leave it all up to him if you can." He turned to Itylus. "I don't want to lose anyone either." Then again to them all, "Is that understood?"

A round of half-hearted 'yes's and a low cheer was answer enough.

Asterix nodded, shifting subconsciously in his bonds. He gestured with his head for Itylus to start, and the two men broke cover of the trees and started across the white, snow laden field toward the village gates.

Many sets of worried eyes followed their progress.

* * *

 **Merry Christmas, and A Happy New Year to you all!**

 **\- Zeragii ;)**


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